The Golden Afternoon
The sun blinds me through a window with no blinds as I lean over to examine this pale blue afternoon. A cat yet again sits on a plastic storage bin amid recently emptied boxes. 7:53 but a bee buzzes still near a tree, near my window. Three large pictures broken-up with: white window-latches, burgundy curtains, ripped screens. I am rambling again!
A pile of duplicate books from my over-crowded bookshelves to be donated, even those with the covers ripped off might once again… A cat licks its tail as the writer spins her sleepy fingers around misspelled adjectives.
“Why oh why, do I feel ever so alone on days like today?”
An ant climbed all the way up my arm but I threw him down. Zach asked how I would feel: “If giants were to step on me… and bend my little legs… and smash my little head.”
“I might be all the better…” I replied. I found my answer odd but only because I heard it in a dream I had when I was young. An old man dies in the turn of a page…
Filed under: ♥ Creativity, Children's Lit, Death, Dreams, Ginger, Poetry, Reality, YouTube | 1 Comment
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