Thinking of those no longer around, how I wish to speak with them now, standing on my balcony, the sun shining magnificently, so utterly lovely for winter. The birds share their songs, selflessly. The trees readying themselves with fresh buds and herbs starting to grow.
My deer have been here. I spy their tracks at the foot of the balcony. I missed them this evening. Oftentimes I catch them quietly by the edge of the porch, feeding from bushes full of berries and greens. When I see them, I toss gigantic organic green apples to them. They like it here with me.
And when I had expelled all of my prejudices, my disdain and my failures, I then sat up and heaved forth every needle pinch to skin and each bleed of my heart. When I opened my mouth, with head held back, as that of a woman, crazed, I wailed and then let out my breath and fell back, destroyed.
My lamplight may dim from time to time, yet is never out, and you must be wondering by now what the actual point of this article is. I must admit, I truly have no idea, seriously, but you are still reading, and my duty as a writer is to come up with something intelligent-sounding. So this is ...