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In the City of the Dead
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The Road to Lonesome
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My heart was a home of darkened wood until you hung the mirrors and stained glass.
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The dream I had lingered in bed long after I awoke.
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never leave me
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When she opened his heart, she found several doors and a stairwell. He buzzed her in.
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you need never stand alone
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The street was fading like an old photo.
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The blanket of snow did nothing to warm her heart.
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A blizzard came the day he left. Her tears had crystallized.
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feed my hungry heart
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The road back to you I have painted in my memory.
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The Cedars crept up the incline behind the barn. The nostrils of the livestock flared at their scent and the Douglas Fir beams creaked with unease.
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The house smiled a somewhat crooked smile. She had grown up there and it tried its best to welcome her. But hers had been a strange childhood. She put the car in reverse.
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The carriage receded. My heart was in my throat. I swallowed. And turned left for the airport.
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He had first spied her in the centre window above the store front. She was laughing as she ran her fingers along the pages of a strange book and her eyes were closed. It was love at first sight.
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The light in the distance appeared, at first, to be a car, but they realized, a bit too late the source was unearthly.
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The cows gathered where the Storm Cloud dictated. They whispered quietly to one another of rebellion.
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He could feel her eyes on him through the window. So intense was her gaze, he began to tune himself. She mouthed the words, "Don't fret," and they both laughed.
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As she neared the glass, the trees inside the house began to awaken and glow. She had found the right place. Now, how to break in...
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In the late afternoon, The Sun would grab an espresso. The staff would don shades and recommend something more caffeinated for The Moon to help her last the night.
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On Silver Lake
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Seagram's
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The skaters sent messages via their blades in the iced surface. The stars twinkled them back to the intended recipients using Morse.
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A surprise capture of Forestgurl at play. I think she is slowly acclimatizing to me; my presence, my equipment.
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Another Moontime has passed before I come upon her communing with the trees and sky. I, too, gaze at the 100 or so satellites passing. They no longer work after the war, but continue to orbit.
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The message said to gather here. While the geese await a further signal, storm clouds form.
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Below, what was left of the populace peered upwards as The Cloud cleared its throat to speak.
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Survival had proven an unexpected gift. They would wait until moonrise to surface.
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The barn, from a distance, looked abandoned. She peered carefully up the backroad both ways before stepping from the copse of cedars and heading for the loft.
