Soulful writing about humans and places
A boy drags an empty bag through the sand.
He’s tied it at the end of a rope.
The wind blows into it, swelling it, ruffling it,
making it float and then
nearly ripping it out of his hand.
The bag is as transparent and light as this boy’s soul.
Boy, breath, wind blowing, soul…
Later, when it’s full of sand
It won’t fly anymore.
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:
Your contribution is much appreciated.
Donate
Writer Between Worlds 