dear wigleaf,

summer flows downstream with the moon in its embrace. my vacation fled among the dunes, only to return, cyclic as the tide. in other locales hurricanes revved up; wild fires smoldered. it's always weather or catastrophe, right? but here, in my little nest, i grow a thicker coat, hobnob with goblins, select the exact pumpkin. the world envelopes my tongue like richest chocolate, like the finest love.

i'll loose my hair from its ponytail, finally, examine the inches accrued since may. its length convinces me time has passed, and changed us, changed you and me. as days shorten, i look into the maw of earlier night, stifle a yawn, and wish, wigleaf, that you were here.


- - -

Read DDV's story, "If Not for the Time."

w i g · l e a F               11-10-10                                [home]