The Journal

thinking, writing, learning

Drafting Again

June 2, 2013

STONEY MAN BECKONS

Cresting his summit

wetted in drifting fog

we climb higher

always harder

no panoramic views

of ridges or passes today

we count ferns, bellwort

among spring sightings

daisies and rhododendron

bracket white trillium

on tree-lined paths

at the peak, he provides

a landing, and we rest

in a silent haze.


Filed Under: Poetry

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I wanted a perfect ending. Now I’ve learned, the hard way, that some poems don’t rhyme, and some stories don’t have a clear beginning, middle and end.
–Gilda Radner

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