Climate Change
In winter, my father climbed our steeply pitched roof with a shovel, almost as dexterous as a goat. We kids dug endless marble tunnels—warm as igloos—in drifts that the morning plow pushed against our fences. Now I have forsaken the country of snow. The view from my terrace is like a museum diorama of the Mesozoic. I step barefoot through sliding glass onto Spanish tile to watch the downpour, a window of water flowing inches from my face.
waiting for the rainbow
I dream
of ice caps melting
December 7th, 2016 at 12:46 pm
Beautiful!
December 7th, 2016 at 2:48 pm
Lovely motif of movement right the way through this. Very emotive and sensory.
December 8th, 2016 at 1:11 am
Wow, "I dream of ice caps melting" is awesome good. The juxtaposition with "waiting for the rainbow" works very well—especially after the prose piece to begin.
December 8th, 2016 at 2:29 am
This flowed beautifully – the once changing seasons, now changeable, interchangeable …
early spring a blade of grass butterflies
April 17th, 2017 at 2:24 am
Very emotive and sensory.. Thank post