a wind picking up
changing its direction
a door slamming shut
a wind picking up
changing its direction
a door slamming shut
the darkening sky
promises a fresh snowfall
on those red berries
during this cold snap
our car sits encased in ice
fingers turning blue
a frost-nipped morning
a bra hangs stiff on the line
robin redbreast chirps
shadows amongst the twigs
the dark shapes of roosting birds
early morning fog
hail stones clattering
tight faces behind drawn hoods
lean into the storm
sheltered by the peaks
the edge of a weather front
always on the fence
wet tyres squishing past
the dim light of a dark day
the warmth of this bed
I dream so I write ..
“Wings are an illusive notion. Some may possess them, but they are not very visible, and as for me, there isn’t the least sign of a feather.” -Amy Carmichael
New Ideas, New Forms
Musings from an insignificant writer
14 hectares of thrills, spills and fun!
A Journal of Poetic Observations
Pictures and Poetry, Picture Poetry
My Journey on the Lonely Road to Deaf Acceptance
Ellen Grace Olinger