I love
To see the open-wide Desert and the ocean and the sky
The long fields of golden wheat or green
Pastures
Touch the white fields of February
Smell the lush wet Forests
You can tell them your secrets
And they will not tell anyone
Maybe they forgive
Maybe they just listen
Maybe they are just there
Forever
And you can think in peace and talk to them like a at mosque or at a church
Or hear them on a high perch
Either way
They are there
They remember and yet also forget
They are there
And they
Give me
A Taste of Peace.
About the Creator
Nicolas Brown
Teacher of the English language, traveler. Movie, comedy, and TV hound. Wheelchair user and occasionally fun to be around.
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Derailment
Renata came to consciousness with ease, greeted only by a pleasant mechanical hum, interspersed by an occasional clicky-clack noise. For someone who had trouble falling asleep, it was always the repetitive and dull sound of machinery in motion that did the trick for her. Being seated on an airplane, lying in wait at her latest doctor's examination room. There was something about the quiet and coolness of the air in those spaces. The humming noises. And here too, she supposed, she hadn't had any difficulty slipping into her slumber. And once Renata was able to sleep, she slept.
By Nicolas Brown2 years ago in Fiction
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