Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Disasters, Delights and Other Detours - 91. Mourning Dove Days
Mourning Dove Days
These are mourning-dove days,
when the air is a plush green velvet blanket
moving in languid caresses
like a lover’s breath on your neck
and colored in maple and aspen whispers,
rumors, retold by the waving buttercups and blue-eyed grasses
to a world slowed down enough to listen
to their songs
over the voices of tanned, teenaged boys wading barefoot,
like restless egrets stalking
in clear, cool, creek waters
where mysterious ducks swam at dawn
and wily trout still lurk and ponder the habits of gnats and mosquitoes
under overhanging cottonwood roots
as twelve times the distant church bell greets the sun,
warm as an embrace,
yet watching warily the western skies
where thunderheads build themselves into towering cities,
full of noise and fury,
enough to rouse the fir-clad mountains, roaring in distant reply,
like a weary parent demanding a return
to tranquility.
I am grateful to anyone who reads these offerings; and I'm doubly glad to see comments of any sort, good or bad, in response.
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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