My mind is on the HERON, and how very LUCKY I am to be sitting in this particular spot. Not many of the tables in the crowded café afford such a clear view of the water’s edge. The waiter comes by with my potato and pea
PATTY, but I ignore the TASTY lunch almost until it has cooled off to be unpleasant, so absorbed am I in the graceful movements of the bird.

Georg’ann

PAUSE, breathe in deeply
walk along the SANDY shore
eat TASTY ice cream

Heather

CLEAR the bed,
Weeds pile up
Jays SCOLD,
Robins wait
Worms wiggle
Birds pounce
Patience is its own reward

Georg’ann

In her HASTE to get out the door, Bugsy forgot to put the milk back in the refrigerator. As she sat in the shade at recess, practically melting in the heat, a vision of it sitting on the counter caused her little heart to skip a beat. She knew it would SPOIL by the time she got home. What would she tell her mother? Perhaps she didn’t have to tell her mother? Could she just put it back and wait for cold, spoiled milk to be discovered later? Bugsy’s pondered her fate for the rest of the afternoon. She was so distracted she missed a few easy math problems and didn’t hear when the teacher called for the spelling tests to be turned in. It was a multiple SCOLD kind of day, one mistake leading to another, like a cascade of dominoes.

Heather

I MEANT to play a pleasant CHORD, one that fell gently on the ear. Instead, as I strummed, the CROWS took flight, black squawk boxes, throwing me completely off my game. I shake my fist, glaring up at them, CROSS as can be. I settle back down, and reflect, it could have been worse. At least they didn’t poop on my guitar.

Georg’ann

What a terrible WASTE
Mistake made in sleepy haste
Silence the jubilant CHOIR
Put the CROCK on the fire
No ability to CROON
Feed me honey on a spoon
Perhaps it’s CROUP
Shall I have soup?
A nurturing kind of gruel?
An awful low sort of crool
Is the sound of a voice lost
The word not chosen was CROSS

Heather

Sipping my coffee, phone in hand, I feel grounded in the shared morning writing practice. Like a lightly held hand, our friendship reaches across the ether. It’s a sweet connection, born from a shared love of games, words, and creativity. Sometimes I strive for playful images, but there are occasions where the words push me elsewhere. Like today: the FRAIL TRAMP slumps defeated against the wall, unable to stand. He and his fellows CRAVE more than the passersby can give.

Georg’ann

Word play to start the day
To WRITE PROSE is morning glory with a friend
No striving for a GRADE
We put the BRAKE on perfection
Wordle is the FRAME
within which our imaginations
are unbound
following patterns
a CRANE might CRAVE a crate filled with fish cakes to share with his neighbor, a jovial crake named Jasper.

Heather

“What do you suppose was the CAUSE of the SHORT in the electrical system?” “I don’t know, Mr. Smith, but let’s rule out something like squirrels before we assume something FISHY happened.

Georg’ann

Rubin ducked behind the dumpster, a PAUSE before he and the rest of the squad took the building by STORM. After weeks of surveillance the we’re ready. They knew enough about the FISHY comings and goings to take action.

Heather

Her HEART on the verge of healing, she yields to a gentle moment in the park. Shy, a little head toss, hair swinging, slow smile spreads. Hand softly reaches. A little tentative moment to FLIRT, rewarded by an enthusiastic tail wag from a puppy. Sweetness

Georg’ann

Taking a quick BREAK from the morning chores to watch this sweet girl
with her bed head mane of golden curls, puffy pink coat, and RUNNY nose
playing in the snow just past the PORCH.
She pauses and begins a chat, looking up at a bird.
When she comes in I ask her about her conversation.
“I was talking to my grandma, you know, that one that died? She’s an angel in that bird. She flew away, though”

I remember another golden haired girl, 20 some years ago, chatting in the back alley with her deceased grandmother.
Me at the sink, then, as now.
The visions merge then SWIRL
down the drain with the dishwater.
Her eyebrow raised and a sly smile
turns the moment instantly from the realm of nostalgic reverie
and pondering of grandma ghosts
to engaging this playful FLIRT.

Heather

Out in the FIELD
Round ABOUT the PORCH
Under the snow
The worms burrow deep

Their WORMY ways
WORRY me not
I bless their slumber
Their winter naps

My partners in the garden

Georg’ann

Walking this well worn path,
I know it with my eyes closed
curves, ruts, roots, moss covered rocks, the bend that overlooks the ridge then turns back toward a meadow
Familiar as she is, there is something new in each step
This morning as I exited the woods,
moving toward the marshy inlet
I saw an egret land
White GRACE in motion
A cloud descending into the rising mist
Delicate long legs that conjure memory of a STORK I made in art glass years ago.
My walk continues along the BOURN
content, out here I let go all WORRY

Heather

We are so ALIKE, two tweens being of very good CHEER, having a giggle over the slightly SEEDY movie magazines found on the bedside table in the master bedroom. Alone in the house, after school, left to amuse ourselves, we are omnivores of all reading material: WEEPY dime store detective novels, the aforementioned movie magazines, and weird Christian romances. We stare, fascinated, at the BEEFY men and wasp-waisted blondes that seem to be the common denominator across all these dubious genres.

Georg’ann

Our bench has good DEPTH
new players LEARN quickly how to SEIZE the ball.
Some scoring from the outside
with long arcs that flow into the net.
Or come together for Complicated choreography with tricky passes and surprise buckets.
GEEKY statisticians track each motion
while fans scream and clap, or silently focus, willing the ball to move with rapt attention
body taut, moving in concert with the players.
Some bite into BEEFY hotdogs and grab handfuls of salty popcorn.

17 years a season ticket holder of IU Women’s basketball,
watching the program develop.
It started as a casual activity for a newly divorced mother and her 9 year old daughter.
Evolving into tradition for an ever expanding circle of family and friends.

Heather

Looking across the WHEAT fields, she felt a sense of PEACE. There is something about those gently waving stalks that always brought her back to a calm center. Images emerge of Demeter and abundance, calm mother holding space for her daughter, Persephone. Yes, calm in the face of the cycle of loosing and retrieving. So very different, she mused, from the spike in energy, a call to AGILE leaps and spins that she felt when visiting her uncle’s fields. Those were mostly MAIZE, tall stiff plants that held tight to their multicolored ears. The rustle and dryness of the stalks evoked the ancient, youthful Mayan god, a connection to life energy that seemed so different from that of the ancient Greek goddess.

Georg’ann

We walked toward the lookout platform of Ik Kil, the Sacred Blue Cenote, unprepared for the astounding beauty of this ROUND pool, it was just meant to be a STAMP on our Yucatán adventure. Even with all the other tourists, I felt it’s MAGIC. Slowly we descended the steps for our swim in the clear blue, and oh so deep. Taking one last look up at the surrounding limestone bluff covered in vines, I plunged into the portal and became The MAIZE Goddess.

Heather

“To find the path, CHASE the CLOUD” Crinkled cellophane and crumbs from a fortune cookie littered the table. “C’mon, now you open yours.” I looked across at her beautiful face. How many times had we honored this tradition? Lunar New Year at the only Chinese restaurant in town, fortune cookies predicting our upcoming year. “You will win in COURT.” I drop the paper as if it were on fire. She grabs it, and looks at me triumphant. “See?? I told you to COUNT on a win next week!” I just stare at her. She has no idea what is really going to happen when my case is heard.

Georg’ann

SPEAK silently, sshh
WORTH is not volume of words
Why try to COUNT the stars

Heather

I YIELD once more to the gardener’s urge. Dreaming daily of new seeds, new plants, my desk is littered with sketches and graph paper. I DELVE into books and websites, ever hopeful. Parallel to the hope is the sad thought that this year I will fail again, that I will be thwarted, success will ELUDE me. Is it a testament to the human spirit, this dogged determination? Or just foolish human delusions?

Georg’ann

Waking to a WHITE dusted landscape
Simplicity of the SPARE branches adorned
as if dipped in white chocolate
for a sugarplum dream
Far from the realm of the laboratories
where we spend our days developing technology to CLONE
The desire to replicate structure,
serves to ELUDE genuine appreciation of the original
Essence is and isn’t in the structure
of these elegant branches outside my window

Heather

The heavy, delicious PEACE of a DREAM- my body is weighted down, my body sinks into the bed. Slow breath. My world is very far away… where I have to constantly perform, perfecting and upholding my role as a policy MAVEN, leader of many, MATEY to few. Please don’t let the alarm go off yet… Surely the Prime Minister can wait a little longer?

Georg’ann

Sitting in my CHAIR watching STEAM shadows dance on the wall behind the kettle, noting dents in the METAL, while I wait for the whistle. Outside MATED cardinals perch on the swaying branches of the unwieldy viburnum. One flies toward the feeder, displacing a black capped chickadee in mid peck. One can almost hear him utter, “hey, what gives MATEY?” as he lands on a low branch close by to wait for the next opening.

Heather

I press my face to the window – I love watching the PLANE climb, the CLOUD landscape changing from mist to puffy pillows. Though, who am I kidding? Perhaps I am hiding a bit by turning my face to the window, as my first FLUSH of excitement, as I found my seat, led me to BLURT out a nervous yelp. I had stumbled and tumbled over strangers, falling into my seat, a tangle of coat, sweater, and bags. (One backpack, one “personal carry-on”). Perhaps I can continue to hide my embarrassment by reading for the 1000th time the BLURB about the island paradise that awaits me. The brochure about the resort? Maybe that will help them reevaluate who I am – not a clumsy country bumpkin, but a sleek sophisticate… Ah, a girl can dream, yes?

Georg’ann

Damnit, I’ve got a STAIN on my POUCH from carrying this nasty GRUEL up to the BLUFF. I’ve been assigned to write a BLURB about it for Hiker Fit magazine. The photographer will do her job of making the meal seem enticing through subliminal suggestion with the amazing view. And editing out the dark patch on my bag!

Heather

With a BLAST of anger that was covering deep layers of fear and grief, she did, indeed, ALTER their relationship. They would have some serious work ahead to get back to where they had been.

Georg’ann

Around the GRAIN bin we did MARCH, a preschool parade with all the trimmings of a morning well spent with glitter, ribbon, sticks, and other treasures from the craft bins. Hats askew, scepters and batons held with authority as their little bodies moved in wobbly formation. These are the kind of days I most ADORE, not a single thing would I ALTER.

Heather

In my DREAM, I am wearing a SMOCK the edges of which are MUCKY. The odd thing is that the whole dream is like a negative – so when I look down, what I expect to be dark is light and vice versa. Is that to be the theme of my day? A reversal of experience – goodness where I expect evil? Or at least clean surfaces where I am expecting mud?

Georg’ann

Dark expanse decorated with festive lights,
we walk through twinkles of every description
A GOURD lighted from within captures my fancy,
sitting at the base of a tree
small holes across her big round belly
make a warm mandala appear to be floating
a lone white tree silhouetted acres and acres away,
nothing but black night between
She is a QUIET queen reigning from afar
How is it possible for my fortunes to have become so LUCKY when my beginnings were so MUCKY?

Heather

Wearing ROUGE like the rogue he was, Paul sauntered along the WHARF. You could almost CHART the time of day by the waxing and waning of his CHARM. He shared other qualities with the moon; those he enchanted used words like “pearly,” “mysterious,” and one even nicknamed him “La Luna.” But he was perhaps most like the moon in his ability to reflect his companion’s own light, glowing softly where they burned brightly. This ability caused many an unsuspecting person to believe that he was whatever they themselves were, falling in love in the most narcissistic of ways. This would happen regularly in the time it took to finish a glass of his beloved CHARD and a plate of fine cheese. They would not see it coming, the trap would have been set by their own vanities and self-absorption.

Georg’ann

Late last spring, I was working in the garden one afternoon, gently pulling weeds out of the moist soil. Summer had not yet arrived. I was still in the season of pleasure in all gardening tasks. Quiet, sensual, earthy work full of potential. The delight of expectation, abundance to come.

Into this unguarded moment came a memory of my mother, so palpable it might actually have been her GHOST. I could see her her hands in the dirt, sun glinting on the gold CHAIN that never left her wrist. Adorned with a single CHARM given to mark my birth. I was my mother’s true love, the only one worthy of a gold trinket, worn as permanently as if it were a tattoo.
She wasn’t one for clutter, but held close the few things that truly mattered. Tears fell into the newly planted CHARD, as I looked at down at my naked wrist.

Heather

On the road, the LEAST little thing can pull us together or tear us APART. My heart is won by a pair of tacos with a mighty fine latte to go. Oh, Redheaded Stranger, will you please ADOPT me for your very own?

Georg’ann

The moon shone through the CLOUD cover,
a ring of light that DROVE an inner tide to shore
Gently delivering me
newly born
let this island ADOPT me.

Heather

To make a POINT ABOVE and beyond the usual, she decided to SCOLD the girls and boys about the damage to the FROCK rather than letting it go as she normally would have. It was not as satisfying as she had hoped.

Georg’ann

They had paid a lot of MONEY for the show. Whew, they were demanding to be wowed. Never had she been in front of such a TOUGH CROWD. Finally she gave them a thrill they didn’t expect. In a single, deft motion she flung off her FROCK and continued her performance without missing a beat.

Heather

Across the REALM there was a rumor that whomsoever dared to take on the quest to rescue the prince would be richly rewarded. Every hopeful subject – from lowest peasant working the meanest CHORE to the high courtier idly at court – dreamed of those riches. Few, however, had the means or the strength to carry through. The SPIRE of the tower where the prince was being held prisoner, rose above the land, taunting all – “dare you try to scale my heights, storm my ramparts?” it seemed to say.

Georg’ann

Katarina never minded time spent in the waiting room if they were well stocked with magazines. This morning she flipped through the latest issues of STYLE and SHAPE while sitting alone in Doctor Corning’s enjoying a cup of tea in a cozy chair. A bit of quiet before her annual checkup. There was nothing pressing for the day ahead to impinge on mindless reading about the latest fashions and best exercises. When the nurse opened the door to call her in, Katarina was chuckling at an article that outlined how to maintain one’s lower SPINE, likening it to the base of a church SPIRE in an article titled the Sacred Sacrum.

Heather

Wiping my hand across my brow, I am rewarded with a dirt SMEAR, providing evidence of my hard work. I kneel down, ready to PLANT more. The QUAIL family scuttle about the enclosed space. The LOACH swam in the pond, and the KOALA slowly blinked at me from the tree. I love my job at the zoo!

Georg’ann

Waking in a cabin suspended between two time zones
watching an hour come and go as I walk a few steps
Experiencing the construction of time
Part country kitsch
Part yoga studio woo
As desperate as today’s words
From which I wrestle
to find a cohesive narrative from SHINE, QUOTA, KOALA
irony being I have come
here to write

Heather

I PLEAD, I beg with the gods – how much longer can this task take? Feeling like a mule in the old ad for BORAX, scrubbing like that famous team of 20, I straighten up out of a SQUAT. I am almost there – in my goal to UNJAM the cabinet door from its grime and stickiness. How many decades – is it centuries? – of HUMAN and animal life did it take to create such a mess?

Georg’ann

It’s CLEAR that our SQUAD is able to perform almost super HUMAN feats.

Heather

It was a FEAST for the HEART. A moment when she chose to trust, acceptance of the hand she had been DEALT. As she LEAPT into the unknown, she pulled on a deep well of compassion for herself and her partner. “All will be well,” she murmured to no one in particular, and she walked into the kitchen.

Georg’ann

This morning we went to assess the JOINT. It was GREAT, exceeding all expectation. A FEAST for the eyes, such a BEAUT. We LEAPT without hesitation. It’s ours!

Heather

PROUD, she was, the previous grande dame of the social scene, though most would whisper behind their hands as she passed by. “FADED,” they would say. “Frail,” they would murmur. Her posture upright, she wielded her cane more as an accessory than as a necessity. She could still part a crowd as surely as Moses did the Red Sea, walking smartly, if a bit more slowly across a hotel lobby or ballroom. The general consensus was that it would take more than age to ADDLE her. Truth be told, the looks she garnered as she swept toward her SEDAN revealed the continued high regard -or was it envy? – in which she was held by the crème de la crème.

Georg’ann

Words are like wine
some so luscious and evocative,
the mouth delights in them,
Lips shape their passage out as the breath carries them forward
Others brash, hard, bitter, repugnant.
Spit them out quickly.
The entire face wants to wince, recoil even as it sends the word forward.

Then comes the fine art of pairing,
Layers of interplay
Rhymes and alliteration
what makes it fun to say
“I don’t mean to brag, I don’t mean to BOAST but I like hot butter on my breakfast toast.”

She sells sea shells by the sea shore;
She has a SANDY SEDAN.

Heather

GREAT GROWN GRUBS
On the GRILL become GRIMY

Georg’ann

I never liked getting a GRADE based on efforts of the GROUP
More often than not I provided the most GRIST while others slacked off. When it came time for the instructor to GRILL us, I again put forth the effort. It always felt GRIMY to carry their dead weight toward an excellent outcome for all.

Heather

“I’d like to share a CHEAT or two today,” Bridget said with a conspiratorial smile. The budding chefs glanced at one another, a ripple of excitement moving through the kitchen classroom like a wave of AMENS on a Sunday morning. “This menu features the AREPA and its versatility, so I want you to think of constructing the menu as less of an OPERA with a diva at the center, and more of a music hall romp, with the same characters showing up in different roles. But all united to a single delicious purpose. Now about that shortcut I mentioned, Marie will you get the tray out of the walk-in freezer?”

Georg’ann

In diction class we repeated, “The rain on the PLAIN in Spain…” as we learned to SPEAK clearly. Each vowel and constant given proper annunciation. It was only from these simple basics, infinitely done, that we could ever hope to become OPERA singers, regardless of our expansive diaphragms and vocal range

Heather

STEAM begins to rise from the pot. I sort the fruit, looking for only the best, the PRIME selection. This is a labor of love, one I am MOVED to each season: ripe tomato of summer; apple and pear of fall; orange, LEMON, grapefruit of winter. Only spring with its tender ephemeral joys – the delicate greens and pea shoots – evades my eager attempts to hold time still, to preserve in a jar the essence of life.

Georg’ann

Years of biweekly video calls
To SPEAK of universes that exist
in an earthen pot by the fire
and other mysteries familiar
to the CRONE and me.
In her presence
I gave birth to myself
without killing my mother,
wept from the depths of the universes within me
about my baby brother
now middle aged
TONED blue black grey
his skin carries stories like cave walls
released FELON seeking
simply to be released
Before me now, a still life
LEMON nesting in the blue earthenware bowl
What bittersweet universe exists on my kitchen table

Heather

“I cannot take my eyes off her- I don’t mean to STARE.” Polly shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Belinda leaned avidly over the edge of the balcony. “Oh, come on, Polly. You know this is the WHOLE reason we sprang for these prime seats up high: to be able to watch her.” The two kept their gaze locked on the large white PLUME, attached to the elegant fascinator. They followed its progress down the aisle, kept track of every cheek that was kissed, every hand that was touched, every ear that was whispered into.
Indeed, Polly’s discomfort was not to be trusted – the pretenses of reluctance and misgivings truly BELIE her deeply felt satisfaction. Tonight- oh yes tonight- she would get her revenge.

Georg’ann

There wasn’t a SHRED of evidence. The case was LEAKY from the start. The prosecution attempted to DELVE into Bernard’s research on the genus MELOE to see if his interest in the secretions of the blister beetle could lend weight to their negative characterization of him overall. The hope being that the jurors would find him less appealing and therefore leap to the conclusion he must be guilty of something. Image after image of black bugs did nothing to BELIE his innocence. Acquittal was all but guaranteed when the final arguments were made.

Heather

I am going for the LEAST SLOPE, as I attempt to climb my metaphorical mountain. Perhaps, if I walk around it enough times (what to others may look like procrastination, but is really time well spent assessing the situation), I can find the path of least resistance. Didn’t work, hasn’t worked prior to now, but perhaps I am a touch SLYER than before. I aspire to be like a SLEEK animal – a weasel, perhaps, or maybe like it’s cousin, the otter. Yes, that’s it: I will be clever and playful as I sort out my approach to the daunting tasks ahead of me.

Georg’ann

A MOVIE he says I won’t like
is a gauntlet thrown
It sounds intriguing
Is a gesture of goodwill
To watch instead of play
that Scrabble game I wanted

In retrospect it was CRUEL
Not listening to my own wishes
To play with words
Not trusting that just maybe he really does know me

As do friends who later hear how we tried
To ring in this new year
“We loved it, and knew you’d hate it.

What is it in me that yields
My own desire and knowing
Am I me still
Do I want to be
Am I known
Do I want to be
Essence and evolution
Comfort and or constraint

Need everything become so heavy LADEN, can it not
Just be a simple matter
of a choice I made
and wished I hadn’t?

That was how it played

In short, I went to SLEEP
Disengaged gently
Gave us both the space be
This SLEEK panther had no need to use her claws
or growl her chosen discontent
Lithe body languid

Heather

Allow me to SHARE this moment: a quiet place, nowhere to be except here. It’s ABOUT slowing down, escaping the ANTIC energy of the world. I am certain that the world and all that means will still be there when the moment passes

Georg’ann

Listening to Sam Cooke croon
“This little light of mine I’m going to let it SHINE”, Becca felt this simple praise song moving up from some deep place inside. She momentarily lost track of what she was DOING as she sang along, and sliced not only the shallot but also her PINKY. The sharp sensation brought her immediately back to focus as she watched a droplet of blood drop onto the RAMIN cutting board. Panning out from the scene she was amused by her ANTIC performance and the inevitable comeuppance. Such are the dangers of kitchen performance when one is lost in music and motion.

Heather

Do Androids DREAM of Electric Sheep asked Philip K. Dick. And I would have to say that, in my case, a ROBOT dreams of a SHIRT and SKIRT combo that will set off my silver skin. Not an electric sheep to be found.

Georg’ann

It’s the simple tasks that throw me off kilter
chisel away at my equilibrium
Incessant tending to
As I attempt to READY myself
not wanting to start the day harassed by minutiae
Flushes of heat, disoriented finally an internal BROIL
When running late the discovery
No clean SHIRT
No suitable SKIRT

Heather

Standing by the OCEAN, feeling so NEEDY. Realizing at last, I don’t need an EVENT – I can SHINE whenever I choose. Let me release my fears into the waves, allow the WHINE of the distant boats to spark my imagination with fantasies of distant shores and unexpected possibilities. If I could succeed at anything, what would I do? Who would I be? Where would I go?

Georg’ann

Even the SCORE
Drive a WEDGE
Burn hot WHITE
Laugh all the WHILE
Cease to WHINE

Heather

I LOVED the HOLLY, all the FOLKS gathered around the POLAR Express display. Too bad I was distracted by the wad of caramel stuck in my right MOLAR. “Good grief,” I thought, “it better not pull out that filling! There’s no way I can get that fixed on Christmas Eve.”

Georg’ann

What is it I CRAVE? pondered Julia. Her mind was wondering, she’d been on the road for a long time. This stretch particularly flat, driving in that suspended consciousness. No hopping tunes on the RADIO, only lots of ads and static. After a while the attempt to find something was more effort than the results yielded. She turned it off. Her stomach felt uncomfortable with road trip BLOAT. She regretted getting the POLAR pop at the last gas station. It wasn’t just her belly that hurt, the icy sweetness also had a painful effect on her problematic lower right MOLAR.

Heather

Sometimes I am overwhelmed with the fear that I will say ADIEU to this life too soon. Like a farmer planning what to PLANT, counting out seeds and multiplying by the numbers of acres and possible FARMS, bewildered and melancholic with the notion that trying to do everything means doing nothing. That the BAGGY, torn pants will never be mended, the WACKO, harebrained schemes left untried.

Seeking to settle in, to quiet the swirling mind, I embrace the HAVOC, the chaos. This, this is the leaning-in worth doing – leaning until it flips and becomes a swirl of energy that I and I alone can contain.

Georg’ann

Gathering the remnants
of what little we have left
Life WOVEN of memories
My fingers exploring the content of each box
pausing to SAVOR each bit
as I weave it back into me
While jackhammers and wrecking balls
make HAVOC outside
Cacophonous devastation
As I silently rebuild
Gathering the remnants
Of what little we have left

Heather

On the way to the OPERA, I take a SWIPE at my phone. I shift tunes from Verdi to a disco beat, to drown out the PIPED cacophony of sounds in the building lobby. The swell of an orchestra gives way to Donna Summer’s voice, a much better fit for the energy of New York on a Saturday night. My head hums with the sound, my steps pick up to “so let’s dance the last dance…” I look down at my shimmering dress… clutch my evening wrap a little closer. Hmm. Could I possibly IMPEL my date to ditch those terribly expensive tickets to the Met and Rigoletto for a night on the town and Studio 54? Oh yes, I think, we must!! With a shimmy of delight that makes my gown glitter like a disco ball, I push “1” on speed dial. “Darling… I have an idea…”

Georg’ann

Searching through QUOTE after quote,
seeking FRESH perspectives
in someone else’s articulation
Cold air seeps across the back door threshold,
water drips from the LEAKY bathroom faucet
IMPEL me to notice
this morning’s theme
New life in an old house

Heather