It Was a Dark and Stormy Night

and I could not be more fragile if I were wet toilet paper…

Rain in the Alley at Night. Photo by Roman

Begging your pardon, don’t believe everything you read on the web, not to mention elsewhere. I’m actually rather content, politics aside, but once the title to this post was in place, the next line came naturally. There should be a story following, but I have nothing more. This isn’t an apology as the two lines compliment the photos very nicely, thank you, but a friend of mine was a suicide several months ago so that context makes the lines a bit fraught. Suicide might be a reasonable part of an accompanying story, but I find it to be difficult to imagine, except maybe as an altruistic sacrifice, so what could I do with it in a first-person story? There’s no good day for banana fish. Maybe that would be it.

I do regret not catching any lightning in the photos, though that’s not so easy.


Brief Seasons

After a certain age, they do indeed cycle this quickly…

Snow covered trees, crystalline, silent:
A scene from Faerie but
Without the Hunt.

Awake! Awake!
The flowers summon you
On a morning breeze.

Storm clouds roil and
Lightning flares from cloud to ground.
It strikes with sudden shock.

Morning it is,
But the yard is silent.
Where are the swallows?