Each season has its moments of darkness,
Clear skies signal the coming of Spring.
Lilies of the valley start to bloom in the woods,
In the forest where the sun dapples the leaves.
Percussion from the woodpecker is the loudest sound,
Secret languages spoken by the trees with creaks and groans.
Even the peepers answer .
About the Creator
Fiona Howell
I am Fiona Howell, an Irish musician and a writer hailing from New Hampshire, US. I have two books out on Amazon: The Locked Box and Blackwood. I have three poems published in anthologies by the Peterborough Poetry Project.
Reader insights
Nice work
Very well written. Keep up the good work!
Top insight
Compelling and original writing
Creative use of language & vocab
Keep reading
More stories from Fiona Howell and writers in Poets and other communities.
We'z Walking on a Path Ruled By Numbers
This road has felt endless, yet limited; every step tracked. Inching away along this path, I feel trapped. Confined. Left to this narrow passage that may one day amount to something greater. Time is not a concept. Only distance. From start to finish, I laugh and cry and attempt to convince myself that this is worth it. I cannot stray. I must keep going. Every step etched, is a step taken, is measured as more than before. I cannot even recall how I got here. Maybe I don’t even really exist. Just another tick marking off a perceived presence. Of what though? I am just another line drawn. Nothing more, nothing less.
By Oneg In The Arcticabout 12 hours ago in Fiction
Comments (2)
Excellent work!
Well done.