Weird scenes inside the gold mines

The Jupiter’s Beard is the last to bloom, pale pink with bees picking pollen from its bush. The garden out front is on its last legs, the lavender deep purple. On the hillsides back in Germany they’d be out with their buckets now gathering grapes, hoisting them on their backs up the steep Roman steps while fanning off flies, mixing up brandy. Putting on outfits, getting on trains for the beer festival in the Basen, eating donner kebabs late at night drunk on the ride home. The feeling transcends meaning and becomes its own meaning, the call to create. Blood-red panes through the trees, smoky wildfire dusk. The never-ending wonder of a world and the love it inspires could make artists of us all if we could only see it.



Categories: microblogging, travel, writing

Tags: , , ,

11 replies

  1. There’s danger on the edge of town

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Oh how lovely Bill! Brought me to another place which is just why I come here. Thanks! Hope you are well out of harms way up there. We are smoky here but not nearly as thick as Seattle looks on TV.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Hey lady! Always happy to see you! We aren’t too-too bad here. Nothing to complain about by comparison to all the communities having to evacuate right?! I can’t imagine. Sun looks pink today though, like some smoothed-over jewel or some sort.

      Liked by 1 person

  3. I love the characterization lent to nature and description making it visually appealing and stunning.

    Liked by 1 person

    • I like that you like the imagery! I see that in your writing too. It’s something I was taught young as a would-be writer, “sense imagery.” A good way to connect with people, I think. I like it anyways…appreciate you taking time to write me here VB!

      Liked by 1 person

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