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.
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.
the days are getting shorter as spring leaves, letting autumn bring its chill. pre-dawn is cold and the streets are bare, spotlit by ghostly-absent lights. the perfume of a wood-fire accompanies me home where hot food waits.
ancient music rings out through the building, raising goosebumps on my neck. stop a moment, and listen as the harmony boldly fills the air. the conductor drops his arm, concludes the piece and the audience stands.
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.