tall pines line the side of the road to the shoreline where rocks lay scattered, black and gray, smooth from millennial washing it’s a place held tight to the chest, spoken of only in memory when skies are alive with color and few words are spoken but night remembers
a gust of evening wind cools the skin while I follow a path beneath pine boughs and their sweet aroma an opening light of the moon brushes past mists of ghosts stars appear like diamond footsteps pointing toward home as night follows close by my side
The world past the front porch, watching the same clouds set in the magic of the sky prayers lift up from swings and wicker chairs escaping through tired screens cars passing know only of roads, the next corner the direction home or close to it train whistles cross over buildings and empty … More SWING ON
The gates stood tall. Imposing to mortals. Neoclassical lions guarded the sides of the entrance; inanimate yet fearsome. Shrubbery thick like bears bristled under wide armed pine boughs. Thick veins of ivy crawled randomly upward, daring the foolish for a climb. Mercury moonlight slipped through thin clouds, forming gray shadows across an organic surface. A … More DEAD END
A teasing wind brushes through thick pine boughs, ruffling their surfaces with drunken intention. A mischievous breeze rattles the bones of shutters and window panes. An overrun of coolness circles like a hungry thief. Shadows form Halloween masks and creatures without heads. Each step is weighted. Weakness has no place while the clearest of eyes … More STEP LIVELY
I saw a winking moon hide behind kingly pines where silence finds comfort in darkened leaning shadows and silver liquid beams slipped through thick boughs as the round full faced hanging around moon delivered light to paths on my way home.
Roger Singer 