The sun has set.Behind mountains green and black slopes crisped with silver snow.Once mighty now the blue bows down,dies,decays.From its bones the gloaming glows bruised and bloody hued. It’s a miracle, but they don’t notice. Wrapped ’round a fire built high for warmth.Smokey musk stings eyes alight with flames whilelaughter rides the wind and windsContinue reading “Delights”
Stories, thoughts, and the spaces between.
Robert Hiraeth 