Under a bright, white moon,
Unseen until morning light.
White dust as notice
To live well this hour.
An echo in ice mist,
Left from the breath of a sinister whispering,
Under a bright, white moon.
Winter: “I am coming.”
November rumor
Category: Prose
Promises
Rich earth. Rain. Snow on bitter wind. Time in the dark stillness. Quickening, warm sunrises of spring.
Recipe for hope.
