Conservatories 2/1 –

There are tiny, swirling motes of dust and gold dancing in the wind and held for tiny moments in their own instant of fiery spinning life by the cold and molten eye of the winter sun


The steam of a cafe’s heat vents onto the streets and sidewalk in dusty, curling waves of vapor against the clear air of a chill day in the wake of a storm.  Each pulse of the breath of mist unfolds like a cat stirring from a long nap, then desperately, silently is diffused into the ocean of January.


Waxen leaves like streamers from a child’s handlebars festooned and dry towers of hardy cone are stripped away in a day’s storm and revealed as new life to be celebrated and wave their banners in a fresh young breeze with the promise of paradise to the eyes of people far below who have long since lost the light to look for them

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Marack Friesach

Ihr Premium-Jungwagen Partner in Österreich.

Death, The Life Story

Tracing a life through stories of death. Sometimes funny, sometimes not.

sevenstarhalo

"Sometimes I can hear my bones straining under the weight of all the lives I'm not living."- Jonathan Safran Foer. || student, loves travelling and perhaps baking a cake.||

Seal Matches

Stories & News

unbolt me

the literary asylum

Mugilan Raju

Prime my subconscious, one hint at a time

The Flyleaf Wordsmith

The door leading to blaring madness.

%d bloggers like this: