These Few Hours
Winter light is soft in the south glowing gas flame red, day breaking with a cold chill, the ground covered in leaves as the sweet
November 29, 2015
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Winter light is soft in the south glowing gas flame red, day breaking with a cold chill, the ground covered in leaves as the sweet
With young souls troubled, old souls feel the approach of winter; we clean the sidewalks, repair parts and pieces but reports darken what remains of
The silence between us and the autumn trees holds the story of all the fallen on the long road of violence, outcast from the garden
Baseball’s over and the olive tree mourns with faded colors falling into rain wet ground, forgiving the hope of soft air and summer nights, no
Winds are blowing off Elliot Bay, rain in sheets on the hills; old Seattle waking up to black coffee and the sound of another storm.