tame flowers sit in glass and ceramic vessels, a demure display. they're simply arranged, logical order of height to best advantage. they sit for five days before being whisked away and swiftly replaced.
water drops gather on the window, spilling down, forming countless shapes. condensation forms inside, sympathy heart traced in, matching the shapes. the window's open, now, and the glass clears. the heart fades, looks half-broken.
the morning is dark, cotton-candy fog hanging over the city. through the fog, lights glow. well and truly entranced, i inhale the sweet air. someone is burning pine. as i get in the car, i wish you were here.
there's a thorn on the rose you left in a vase. it's as sharp as it looks. jabbed my finger on the prickle trimming the stem. new water, and done. there's a card i have yet to read. maybe later - i hope you will stay.
delicate pink shells are scattered across the sand - shatter in one step. condensation beads on the glass bottle as the sun beats down on us. wind whips sand up as greedy-eyed birds appear. (food's less edible).
seventeen chapters through, and the doorbell goes off: almost irate now. tall stack of books by the bed keep you amused at any time of day. various capers run through the pages, until the book is closed; done.
if you please, she says. coy. she ruffles her hair and flutters her eyelids. don't tease, she scolds. stern. she twists around, angles her body just so, and scowls. she tenses, her whole body stiff with annoyance. anger; detonates.
collaboration of music through headphones makes it sound like rain's here. drumbeat excites a tempo that transcends normal volume, takes its place. karma, i decide, for letting the music and weather intertwine.
icicles hang from the branches, arching them down, stooped and slowly aged. the trees stand close, tall and hiding a multitude of secrets in earth. a final tree is selected, photographed and left to stand alone.
i set my clock by the times at which the sun and moon rise above me. i rise with the sun when its light breaks in through the curtains, waking me. at night, i watch for the moon rising, late as it always seems to be.