Crystal-clear at sunrise: I’m aware of every smudge and scratch on my glasses. A wood pewee’s call reduced to a single, interrogatory note.
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Daily short takes from an Appalachian hollow
Daily short takes from an Appalachian hollow
Crystal-clear at sunrise: I’m aware of every smudge and scratch on my glasses. A wood pewee’s call reduced to a single, interrogatory note.
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Coming up over Vista Ridge
The transmission shifts down, and
a volley of light spatters the windshield.
Waiting for us on the reverse slope
was a blazing regiment of sun soldiers. They fire and reload.
The glass is all glowing dust, dragged web,
mineralized entrails of bugs
made into a phosphor,
a blinding euphoria, a flourish,
a hissing matchhead, and the slopes of Beaverton
shimmer beyond the flame.
Nice. An earlier draft of my post included the phrase “blisters of sun on the leaves.”