The repetitive booms of faraway thunder that had populated the overly warm Indian summer morning rolled close and resounding, then released in a pouding patter of heavy raindrops. The steamy wet stormed the dry pavement, grass and flower beds, then eased into the gentle washing rhythm of much needed northwest rain.
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The fading summer sunlight paints beams of sunset on the Gerbera daisies poised in a tall vase on the mantle. Shadows move slowly across the walls and furniture like a camera panning the room moving my eyes with it. Long, longer, heavier. The quickly waning light reminds me that another day is coming to an end.
July has disappeared into the dry crackly grass and drooping plants. The air is hot and sleepy -- hanging in dogday afternoon fashion on a dull interlude of inactivity and listlessness. The sounds of industry and human activity have blurred into the indifferent buzz of resonating heat from hazy sunshine.
The sky is heavy, clouds filled with unspent tears, thick and waiting. The pulse of the world beats in the breeze and the swaying of branches, birdsong and the far away, indescriminate sounds of human toil.
Can we build bridges back through time to recapture or rekindle a relationship or a memory? Or are they simply bridges over the past to the future?
Sleepy morning with steady, misty rain falling like a wooly blanket over vestiges of spring.
The sun is shining from a bright blue, cloudless sky. Crows and squirrels bicker over breadcrumbs tossed beneath the cedar tree. Remembering phrases of poetry penned many lifetimes ago.
The air outside is cold. The wind is brisk and raw. Hail mounds hide in shadowy corners remembering the temperature of night. Primroses timidly dance on the breath of departing winter.
The whiteness of winter haunts the air and blankets the ground. Birds and squirrels forage for buried treasure. The air has the stillness of softness and gently floating snowflakes.
The holiday season is coming to a close and memories of loved ones departed march through the festivities. Joy and sadness mix together in long embraces.
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AuthorHace Williams is a Seattle area author and journalist. Archives
December 2015
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