Uneven

The shadow of the tree turns upon the stone, Measuring my day for me. It’s all about time when you are here for An elusive resurrection. The day wanes, The wind lifting unnoticed feathers Tousling hair, and Sending the campfire into my eyes. In the forest, A trembling of delicate tendrils. The branches rise and…

The Sound and the Fury

” … I wouldn’t begin counting until the clock struck three. Then I would begin, counting to sixty and folding down one finger and thinking of the other fourteen fingers waiting to be folded down, or thirteen or twelve or eight or seven, until all of a sudden I’d realise silence and the unwinking minds……