Ken e Bujold > Writing | WritersCafe.org | The Online Writing Community

"my response to reading Yvor Winter's The Realization"

A day hardly begun begins before I am even aware of its beginning gruff chuffs scuttling cetacean dawn hauling ..

Rain draped my afternoon dozing the easy pit-pat of drops tapping beyond the curtains drawn tight against the light, my mind shuddered to the..

Here, legs, loathing daylight exertion, sit watching the slow inch of a straggling cloud drift across a lazuline sky-- follow the brooding g..

What should I make of these old-world woods: moss-backed galleons shadowing the mist-fended coast, upright ewes to feed the two-footed beast anc..

Stand down, dear Sorrow, let the sea wash away the grit and grime of a night's unintended mis-adventures. Sleep. Nest until the new day rain's h..

A new day, again--more of the same though not quite the same--I think back on how many ways I've travelled this famished highway, places t..

The day of close minded improbabilities begins with an unexpected ray of sun, a few degrees of added shine that coaxes the rabbits out from u..

i This season is our season: daze of days of no particular observance, neither joy nor grief, a sea of indiscriminate sensations born of the h..

Ash ignites the eye as far as one can see the burnt sunset of a day spent hiking through a nature one wasn't meant to know leaves me exhausted bu..