Sunday, January 11, 2015

Stranded in Winter

The gutters are dripping, a perpetuity of grey. Yesterday this entire landscape appeared swathed in wet dryer lint. When the mountains aren't out, my world lacks perspective.


What I miss most not having a partner is the companionable silence that imparts texture to the hours. The buzz of a game in the background, another person's footsteps. Someone who is not me opening and closing a door. The secret duets of private jokes, layered one upon another.

How to endure — not a question, exactly.

(Waiting on the daffodils to ruffle up those yellow skirts.)


  1. Your writing is color peeking out of that grey.

  2. Dear T, I know this one. (Maybe more folk than me and you do too, actually.)
    'How to endure' is a narrative not a question, as you say. I've become a believer in 'process' despite previously equating the word with bullshit self help books.
    Good luck luv.

  3. beautiful writing that says it, exactly. your feelings so well expressed, albeit lonely and chill. yes, daffodils will come again!

    Secret: the problem of how to endure exists in all states...married, single, widowed, actively dating. But, yeah, I know what you mean.

  4. Ain't that the truth, Ms. Crowley. Seem slightly more endurable in the presence of another body, no matter the kind of silence. Or at least that's what I recall. Grass is always greener!