More from awhile ago

All the fog!
There's a city back there,
but you'd never know.

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Sub par tacos
and no Horchata!
Cold wind through the open door....
Disappointment mounts
with every bite.

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He hurries down hill,
the red glow of his cigarette
marking his speed.

--------------

Gray green tide creeps in.
The white gull flies away--
now I am alone.

And even further back!

Brown sand in my socks
and shoes.
Worth it.

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Blood red sun
skies made of smoke and loss—
I can’t breathe.

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Finally nighttime!
Noisy fans cease to the
sound of crickets.

---------- Accidentally
disturbed a tiny spider.
Now avoiding it

Red leaves falling...

Red leaves falling -- 
Cat watches birds in the rain 
from the window.

9/30/15

Two cats lay 
curled in a sliver of sun.
Détente for now.


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Sip apple cider,
crunch the popcorn like Dad did,
remembering him.


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The banality of Fall:
"Decorative" gourds.
"Pumpkin" lattes.


----------------------

Red leaves all year--
this maple isn't a good sign
of Autumn.

Still Falling Down on the Job: August Daily Blog Challenges 9 - 12

Day 9, Friday. A regret.

With best intentions,
I say I commit.  But no
follow through means---

Day 10, Saturday.  Opening lines from five favourite books, in no particular order.

• ''Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much.''

• "There was a boy named Eustace Clarence Scrubb, and he almost deserved it."  (Probably the best opening line of a book EVER.)

• "It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife."  (A ubiquitous choice, but this is one of everyone's favorite opening lines for a reason.)

• "The first ray of light which illumines the gloom, and converts into a dazzling brilliancy that obscurity in which the earlier history of the public career of the immortal Pickwick would appear to be involved, is derived from the perusal of the following entry in the Transactions of the Pickwick Club, which the editor of these papers feels the highest pleasure in laying before his readers, as a proof of the careful attention, indefatigable assiduity, and nice discrimination, with which his search among the multifarious documents confided to him has been conducted."

• ''If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don't feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth.''

Day 11, Sunday.  Earliest memory.

Sunlit reddish hair,

sparkling water dotted with

geese and small breadcrumbs.

 

Day 12, Monday.  A ghost story – yours or someone else’s.

 

Glowing demon eyes--

or werewolf-- born of fears

religiously born.

Pyracanthus (2) -- Written a couple of months ago.

Against Winter's dead,
gray air, your red berries bloom
all the more brightly.

Small lupines tinged with
white grow among red flowers.
I forget their names.