words,
they make their lodging in cabins in my snowy head.
words,
at times, they look scrupulously delicious and definitely indelibly delightful
words,
at other times, they look awfully morose and unforgiving and inauspiciously dressed
About the Creator
Rowan Finley
Father. Academic Advisor. Musician. Writer. My real name is Jesse Balogh.
Keep reading
More stories from Rowan Finley and writers in Poets and other communities.
The Light Turns
It's Tuesday 7:13 a.m. A cold and clear November morning awaits Ray on his morning commute. Ray rubs his hands together in the front seat of his Subaru. He turns the air temperature up, but keeps the air on low until the air warms up. He looks at the backup camera screen and reverses the Subaru out of his driveway onto Trimble Road.
By John R. Godwin3 days ago in Fiction
Comments (3)
The words we use, the ones we hear, and the ones that stay unsaid. I love how you show them living with us, almost encamped. It feels like being snowbound without snowshoes.
I know the feeling. There are so many times they run around in my head and where they stop? no one knows, and often, not even me.
Words, at times short and sweet, nevertheless additional depictions retain potential for an abundance of appreciation.
This comment has been deleted