adventures in dysthymia

Saturday, January 20, 2007

FOG

Still dark. Fog slept on the fields,
in layered blankets of silence.

She watched his taillights dissolve into
the morning and turned from the window.

‘Stay, next time,’ she whispered. ‘Stay.’
Miles away, he turned on the radio.

Stephen Brooke ©2007


Another attempt at the sijo form, loosely interpreted.

In other news: I've been a bit busy manufacturing CDs for a client the last couple days. This isn't something I particularly care to do but I offer it as a service to folks I do recording for. Smallish runs only, of course. Usually, I also do the design work, such as it is. I should probably charge more for that...

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