Soulful writing about humans and places
So the snow comes down from the sky
through an invisible sieve
hissing.
All birds have gone – the muzzled silence
the night’s only sound.
Homes sleeping.
Frayed blankets of white alight
from radiant indigo clouds;
solitude bites into them and they are
unraveled.
My inner mystic is plagued by insomnia and runs entirely on divine grace. The outer shell, however, does occasionally need: jasmine tea, ice cream (preferably salted caramel), good books, music, and new horizons. If you’d like to help keep this blog alive, please choose an amount:
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Writer Between Worlds 