Month: February 2016

The loneliness of a pine cone

pine cone basks
in the sliver of sunlight
on a carpet of needles
it lays;
does it know its fallen
does it miss the tree?


The house with the red door

I drove past your house, I missed it completely. The door was blue you see.

Doubling back I knocked on the door, it sounded different. The thud a bit duller, the wood softer.

Shadows moved behind the glass, silhouettes of familiar faces.

A sigh exhaled. All was well. Except that door.

Even now years later I look for the red, the beacon of hope.

Even now I drive past. Thrown by that door of misdirection.