Words...

The words don't always come easily or quickly.

This dawn they are proving difficult.

The words fly away like the hundreds of blackbirds in the trees that were shaped like tall severe wine glasses, branches draped above the first home next to the slough. I didn't notice the birds until they flew away, such were their voices and such are words.

Small, chattering, and when they fly there is a great rush of tiny black wings and then deafening silence

I am listening...



Last night was an oddity, something from somewhere else, unfathomable. Faces looked hidden and dark with secrets or worries, privacy was violated, the waning moon troubled the world with long shadows.