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