We are halfway through the year. I listen to the gentle whir of the storm, little rivulets flowing down the triple-hung windows, the roar of thunder, shimmering blue flashes dispersed by the haze reflect off the eggshell-white surfaces of the office, the violent crash, the sound, a memory of the brilliant light. I love you Samuel, as a brother and as a friend. Adjusting the couch, a distant memory, of my head in your lap, long ago. I will never be your enemy. Lightning weaves through the knot garden behind the partially drawn shade, a fading crackle. It was worth standing up for civility, beauty, peace.
Posted on: Wed, 02 Jul 2014 23:43:34 +0000
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