It could have been a field of flowers, apricot sunrise honeying all. It could have been a berry patch, spread round with her the center, fingers damp with morning dew. It might’ve even been a dragon’s hoard, doubloons spilling from ruby-studded chalices, heavy pendants on worked, chain necklaces, diamond and emerald tiara resting on her head, proclaiming her queen of all she surveyed. Continue reading
Tree prints on dark’ning sky
Dusk comes, a soft quilt Continue reading
A thin blanket over vibrant late summer.
Silent white, still as death,
Satisfying in its containment.
The very first hour before sunrise is the most powerful time of day. Continue reading
He lay the quill down beside his Manifesto, reaching to close the cap on the near-empty inkwell. Continue reading