Tag Archives: seasons



spelling errors

by right


 on the error and who knew 

 that the cat was causing all the malfunctions



with the keyboard by rolling on it when I was trying to write so I gave up for about two seasons and read the recommended books from the book blogs and ordered them all from all over the interlibrary lending system


the weather changed and I found




to the edges of town and  to the melting and soggy countryside

finding the little places and trying

to talk

to people

in their little old stores and cheese markets with old dogs sleeping in the sun on the warming concrete



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Brewed For Blackout

Anticipating the storms to arrive eventually , doors still closed to the heat, curtains backing out the glare  ,measures taken and fans directed. Cooled, refreshed , dressed to remain indoors in a waiting rest. Rumbling storms arrive and darken outlines of houses, trees and withered ferns. Too late to bring in cushions on the porch, so coffee brewed for blackout. Wind, rain, lightning, thunder combine repeatedly through the late day and create an exhausted night. Sirens heard with each new surge, subsiding before a chance to recover and no one knows what has gone so terribly wrong except the ones who have to go into the wild night. Cat behind curtain, frightened search for duvet ,instinctively moving. 


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Night, draws in now. Darkness has a coolness and a quiet that feels like autumn is settling around the  village. Earlier, an emergency vehicle sounded a siren briefly but the night made the interruption become silent, the panic is elsewhere. Before that, at suppertime the nearby park was filled with the chatter and laughter of an end of season barbeque attracting all the locals . The people ate their church dinner in near dusk, saying to each other, all they had to say.Night lingers longer now, soft lights are sometimes left on, forgotten by the late to bed as they sleep in front of televisions turned low. The ones who stay up to read, finally exhaust themselves by early dawn and stumble to their rest. Writers forage for seeds fallen from the husk of the day. An old cat takes the very best chair and nestles into the woolen shawl left on the side, curled into her paws, She claims the late, dark softness, rightfully.

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