Freewrite VIII

The life around catches light like I never could, too sure of my height to stoop or kneel or lay, and always wanting movement just when I’m planted. My hands under the underbrush, pushing aside the stems to feel the cool stone beneath, clearing a spot for my body among the sureness. The smell of autumnal dirt, and the grit of pressing it in the gap between nail and skin, finding nakedness to be absorbed at the cellular level. The shadow there is full and rich, but skeletal in its function to hide, and just the same I feel it when I forget to smile.

7 thoughts on “Freewrite VIII

  1. Beautiful photo, James…and I like the random, yet interlacing words…feels very much like free-writing…life and earth and cells and shadows…and forgetting to smile…very nice.

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