invisible winds twisting clouds gray shadow prints crawl past a deepening of humidity changing without introduction rain presses in lightening blasts thunder hammers fog blankets …and then blue sky infinity slips within the circle where we stand
Summer is the end of all rules where cottages have open window neighbors and late high flat clouds like rolled blankets signal days end but not the end of dreams its where youth has no regrets and mistakes are minor and blessings abundant
the thickness of night as a cool blanket of air slips onto the yard lifting out a day of warmth windows shut sweaters appear a dark lakes surface humbles even the brave inside cabin lights extinguish like falling stars night sounds filter through aged screened windows the aroma of pine lingers … More I REMEMBER
It was beautiful because, shaded solitude under a sycamore blanketing a dirt road durable carpets of moss and grass exhibited proof of ancient inheritance it’s a bewildering place for those just passing through and an oasis for those walking slowly
Roger Singer 