Tenderness

All the campfires in the windows

hold an ongoing story story.

The people inside are writing

sleepy sentences with their

tired and sore feet. Every time they

clear the dishes, something has turned

into another page. On the

raw outside, we pass grouped in the

curled night, imagining what those

loose conversations might contain,

tenderness or anger, laughter

or spilled tears. We don't know. Only

that the world contains both sorrow

and gladness for everyone involved.

Our weary feet write their own

winding way out of town. In the

prickly painted trees and bushes,

we might stop to look up at the

burning stars, but the moon always

gently reminds us to get ourselves

going again. There are impatient

stories that need our personages

to continue to develop

into an ending of

some mysteriously obvious

sort. Whether that satisfies

or opens up the floor for new

questions, is anybody's guess.

0
favs

46 views
0 comments

The author has not attached a note to this story.

No one has commented on this story.

You must log in to post comments.