Fallen, moss-covered tree in the aspect of a dog

There was nothing more of it left at the end, the day got sanded down to a pile of dust smaller than the shape it started. The dishwasher ran and the rain looked to stop for a minute, but only that long, and we lost sight of where we were on the calendar, in the week, and hastened toward the end when we could let go and catch up, and onward we bent forward, trying so hard to do everything we thought we should; no one knows, it’s true we have to live by our own laws. And they’re not written down, or always right.

Categories: musings, prose

Tags: , , , , ,

8 replies

  1. Reading this is like listening to a really good guitarist riffing in the studio. I see you sitting on a stool with the headphones on, in the booth.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. we do what we can. love the sentinel moss dog.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. The picture is incredible.
    I don’t know what your intent was with this, but to me it speaks a little bit of futility. We just always keep doing what we’re supposed to do … and there never seems to be enough days in the week.

    “Onward we bent forward” Indeed. I feel this so much in my week day mornings as I wander the internet in the few minutes I have before I head back upstairs to get ready for work and then drive to work and then work. Just bending forward. Nice image of how it feels.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. That last line is primo. Truth nailed.

    May the rain end soon …


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