there, standing beside a forest, its green declaring war with one color, victorious, capturing the eyes with intimidating power a meadow, jealous of rough barked guardians without voice reaching to, almost touching infinity
Into the desert. Road signs peppered like a wasteland war. The air is solid with evenings coolness stepping in. Jack rabbits feet sing out an escape, hoping for luck. A lunar terrain, scattered with hungry plants and starving weeds. The sun fell into a distant comfortable corner. Stars hold their distance, offering an occasional … More PASSING THROUGH
Roger Singer 