Ruggedstone mountains, forests of skyoaks.
Flat hills populated with bushes that seem to kiss the horizon.
Roads cut into the mountainsides, presenting the dreamlike sights of both above and below.
Crossroads where the travelers on the roads meet halfway; that which sits a way from the lush-green river, wrapped in the calming shadows of the Kokopelli's flutesong.
The mighty canyon which gave the state its name, whose romantic mysteries attract even the most grounded, whose majesty still slips beyond the grips of language, art, mind.
Summertime skies clear as the river that carved the canyon, like a mirror to its beauty.
Caught between the sun's gentle rays and the breeze's sharp race.
Caught in the chickadees' throngsongs, in the pines' low-hanging embraces.
In a small town where I can think and laugh without fear of being burned.
About the Creator
Em E. Lee
Writer-of-all-trades and self-appointed "professional" nerd with an infinite supply of story ideas and not nearly enough time to write them down. Lover of all media, especially fiction and literature. Proud advocate of the short story.
Gossamer
"Murray! Wake up!" He loved that period between waking and dreaming. To him, it was like entering another dimension; more of a dreamscape than dreaming itself. There was an otherness to it that he wanted to grasp and yet deeply respected the fact that it could never be his totally. This is what gossamer was; flighty and light, a wisp of smokiness, an idea suggested but not fully revealed, a slit in cloth, a copse in the wood.
By Rachel Deeming6 days ago in Fiction
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