I’ll have to admit, the stress of losing the toenail on my big toe via medical intervention was worse than the reality of it. Just in case anyone wants to know about the experience in case you experience s similar situation.
(more…)tidal
Photo by Dariusz Sankowski on Unsplash how many ways can you
disguise depression before
it folds back on you
like an injured toenail?
echoes in the pond
ripple only so far before
a tidal wave fallsTo like/comment:
tidal
Threefold returns
Photo by Cornelia Munteanu on Unsplash All that you give returns threefold, or so they say.
Or they used to, anyway. I do not know if that still holds true. Sometimes it does not seem to.
The world has moved on in a lot of ways. Maybe such concepts just refuse to stick around anymore.
I do not know.
Laughter. That uncertain, awkward laughter one uses while scratching their head and looking down at their shoes. Are those my shoes? I suppose they must be. Heh. Alrighty. Hello shoes.
I seem to be staring at my shoes a lot in life. Awkward laughter and all.
Trees… They do not concern themselves with these things. Nor do big granite stones.
And they do not have shoes to awkwardly laugh about.
I then give myself to the wisdom of trees and stones. Perhaps I’ll grok at least some of the things yet.
To like/comment:
Threefold returns
all bone at song
Photo by pedram ahmadi on Unsplash i shadow as maiden
i shadow as lake
stone waters under
of granite my eye
pock and pit
chip and ash
fleck and form
all bone at song
i blood as my earthing
i blood as my weir
catch acorn when thorn
at river we heartTo like/comment:
all bone at song
Campfire sessions — 02may25
Photo by Ville Palmu on Unsplash A fog had descended on camp. It happens at times and, when it does, the fog reflects the flames in such a way that the immediate surroundings appear aglow but the campfire is quickly swallowed by the thick fog standing a few dozen yards away. I did not expect anyone to find me tonight as a result of being well within the betweens. So I warmed my hands and contemplated the thorns still visible on one side of the clearing: daggered things that would have screamed of a sepsis incurred within hours of being pricked by their sharp tips.
The weald likes to keep its secrets. I may be the nominal warden of this place, but that does not mean that I know anything more than I need to about the darker spaces within. Of course, if there were need of the blackthorn’s protection, I would find I could slip within the hedge’s folds like a chickadee or wren. The weald protects its own as much as it wards.
That is when a familiar and small voice spoke in my left ear.
Hey, they said. Thought you could stand some company.
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Campfire sessions — 02may25
