April 20, 2015 § Leave a comment

Like a veil of the finest batiste in whose even weave the weight of a breeze blowing over far blue flax fields is felt, my attention hangs. Soft grey pigeon calls work their way neatly along the raw edge of the day interrupted now and then to rethread or turn the seam, while the trill of smaller birds adorn the piece with clusters of loops and tiny knots until all the voices are done and the veil blows in the quiet of a dip-dyed sky turning from teal coloured twilight to night.


Tagged: , , ,

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

What’s this?

You are currently reading twilight at An Apparent Mind.


%d bloggers like this: