"Late afternoon. I could feel the storm in my body, the way it chased its own cold tail eastward, the way the music of rain ceased and overcast became cracked with turquoise."
Just call this what it is, Tom, poetry and be done with it. And, thank you.
This jumped out at me though because if I could easily reach the cord I would unplug this modern convenience when I come inside to sit by the woodstove in the early morning and write.
"At least the refrigerator would be silent."
I loved the silence that my years living in a wall tent provided.
"Late afternoon. I could feel the storm in my body, the way it chased its own cold tail eastward, the way the music of rain ceased and overcast became cracked with turquoise."
Just call this what it is, Tom, poetry and be done with it. And, thank you.
Enjoyed reading it!
I agree with ME Hope, Poetry!
This jumped out at me though because if I could easily reach the cord I would unplug this modern convenience when I come inside to sit by the woodstove in the early morning and write.
"At least the refrigerator would be silent."
I loved the silence that my years living in a wall tent provided.