- the planes disappear,
tubular smudges of greyed white
and slashes of dimmed colour
rumbling into grey
moments after leaving
the ground,
- as do we.
For most, ominous;
for me, a joy,
as is
the setting of
later motel
'side grey turbid river,
passage of former travellers
now of pleasure makers,
lined with verdant green,
under grey skies,
all living in a cold, crisp air
sharpened by tangs
of smoke
from occassional fires
- fires safe and snug
in hearths,
with people,
safe and snug about them,
as, I hope,
is the distant traveller
with whom
my thoughts and heart
reside.
May her journey be
I hope
as pleasant to her
as mine to me
- particularly
the next day,
as I wind through
tough little hills,
mounds of vivid green
giving rare glimpses
of white streaked, grey sea
all under
grey sky
and still surrounded
by crisp
refreshing
cold.
A winter's
tale,
- a story
I love,
a journey and journeyer,
I love.
Copyright © Kayleen White, 2013 I take these photographs and undertake these writings – and the sharing of them – for the sake of my self expression. I am under no particular illusions as to their literary or artistic merit, and ask only that any readers do not have any undue expectations. If you consider me wrong, then publish me – with full credit, of course :)
