I'm Melting I'm Melting!

The first snows leave a pile of puff. Your imprint will be left in it with the slightest perturbation. Feet or snow angels, your choice. There still isn't enough of it to fight back, take a form and defy your pounds of substance.

I'm like this too, the early snow. I lose shape to imaginings. Perhaps he is thinking this or that, I repeat in my head, and then the doubt presides as queen. Or the impulsivity can also reign. Check check check a thousand times over because time is too slow to my musings. Demands of destiny are made in half-wishes and whispers. Like early snow, malleable and melting to everything.

On the tales told and untold

November slipped away, melted like an ice cube in a glass cup at the end of summer. And what did I write? A piece, a monument piece, for a departed grandfather, filled with the lores of my small family. Something which needed a home on a page, yes. But there was still so much more that should have found homes on pages in those 30 days. Confusion, depression, rejection, inattention, and more. These also needed a home in a page, crouched in an obscure occurrence somewhere in time, somewhere on the planet. But thus far, only the heroes tales emerge. What of the truth?

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I have discovered new authors who tickle my mind. I want to be like them, be them. Tickle other people's minds. Oh.