rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,

No Storm

There are moments that are all mist, and I am brushed by an icy veil that dissolves at my touch. Each breath is saturated with damp, and even the dead of night darkles with a wet sheen. Drops of water gather, hang unseen from leaf-tip and pine needle, grow plump and ever more pendulous, and then, stretched to their limit by gravity's pull, fall at last, breaking the stillness as they hit some lower leaf, or rooftop, or wet patch of ground. All the night is a soft, slow drumming. Without intent, I form accompanying music in my mind, and the song is like deep, distant woodwinds, and plucked strings, and faint, glassy chimes. Half imagined, dim shapes flit from shadow to shadow like breaths of fog. They might be ghosts of woodland spirits, wandered from some ancient myth to find this silent town and seek among its remaining trees their fellow wanderers, my vague thoughts, always trending from this faded world.

  • Reset Sixteen, Day Forty-Eight

    The day that was Sunday was damp when I woke from a midday nap, and it just got wetter from there. We probably got a good four hours of rain, and…

  • Reset Sixteen, Day Forty-Seven

    Another day got away from me, and I have no idea where it went. I only remember the last part, when I made a dinner that turned out to be too large,…

  • Reset Sixteen, Day Forty-Six

    The rain had not begun when I went to bed early Friday morning, but when I woke up that afternoon it was doming down quite nicely. It only continued…

  • Post a new comment


    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.