Home

Like The Slap Of A Wet Daffodil

Listless

Ancient ash: extending delicate, tender-stemmed leaflets towards me.  I hold one gently between thumb and forefinger, feeling the slight ridge of life-giving vein and am reminded of our similarities; what we share.  The trees sit with me in my creative impotence; silent companions in late summer’s weary pause.


Follow My Blog

Get new content delivered directly to your inbox.

Create your website with WordPress.com
Get started