Filmy swaths of bright charcoal and grimy pearl dust the river. The ghostly silhouettes of trees and people on the far riverbank. Being reminded of the early morning fog banks of home. The winds flatly refuse to disabuse the illusion. The eerie quiet of a suffocating river current. A still minute, sat flat in algae shallows. Pulling back a hand dusted in tiny olive-tinted leeches. Chuckling at the metaphor and calmly scraping them back into the water. Like everyone else this year, I'm sure they needed the work.
11:55 p.m. - 2020-08-26
Recent entries:
Thanking the Pandemonium - 2020-11-26
Simplicity of Sometimes - 2020-11-25
Bubblebeams - 2020-11-18
Red Blue Green Purple - 2020-11-11
Too Young to Descend - 2020-11-11
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