Pungent smell of summer's green surrounds me.
The hum of spinning blades from nearby homes.
Maple seed spirals downward lazily,
While fluffy cottonwood hovers and roams.
Soft hammock cradles my body and sways,
Making me as pollen caught in the breeze.
Nowhere to journey for unnumbered days,
I release my breath and gaze at the trees.
The earth, the sky, and all nature feels close.
As my focus slips away from these things;
Exposed skin feels the warm wind as it blows,
And my woven cocoon with the breeze swings.
When summer ends and is for fall exchanged,
Will I be the same, or with season changed?
About the Creator
Halo Noir
A girl in a woman's body.
making space
Since the only thing that might pull us back up is caring, it only makes sense that here, long after I’ve let my anger born of heartbreak and grief misplace, multiply, misdirect itself, let the enormity of my solitude turn into something I don’t know how to dispute with, something thick and heavy and suffocating, let the coldness thrash and fight under my skin, deeper still, in between the arches of my organs; here where the ground is always close and the fall is easy and I surrender to it often, lie without purpose for hours, it only makes sense that it is here, I decide to show up and surrender to the possibilities of the night. Show up to those who I deserted. Drawn to the sense of accomplishment, something I haven’t felt in a while, to memory of finished dish sending its aroma into the world and with it, wrapping the room with a strong sense of sweet nostalgia, I get up and decide to cook. I pick up my phone, type a message that reads “Dinner at mine @ 8PM, don’t bring anything” and before my courage deserts me again, drop it in our friends’ group chat, the way one would do when diffusing a bomb in the movies: one eye closed, snip at the wire, hoping for the best.
By Mesh Toraskarabout 20 hours ago in Feast
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