Friday, October 05, 2007

story writers

We’re that. Mercilessly spilling it out.

So there I am, biking to work. The long way. Ten miles plus.

It is the underbelly of autumn now in Madison. Brown rather than red or golden. And really, mostly still green. With a rare burst of color.

007 copy

I bike and I come across the geese. Always the geese. Fly south already! (I’m much less scary than I appear.)

010 copy

They stare at me and stay put.

009 copy

Why is it that none of us can ever leave? We hover, and we land, right back where we started from.

Oh life.


It's almost dusk. I walk into the field.

What's your name?

Nina? Do you live here?
(why do I say this? Perhaps because today, after a long week, I choose not to be a strict constructionist)
Good! Not many people nearby... Here!

029 copy

She hands me flowers she had only seconds ago cut down.

For you.
Thank you.