Slice of a Hard Spring

Robert Quick

Where the -@!# did my muse go?

Writer, dreamer, knight, shackled by entertainment . . . and people.

It's late and a thin, wispy fog has settled atop the streets. I don't know when it happened. Last I remembered, the sun was mid-set in a darkening sky. Now every street ended in a gray void. Did the fog creep in, floating like some otherworldly horror, or drop down from above, thicker and lighter than rain? Even this, the palest fog, seemed sinister as it stole building and tree alike from the scenery. Deeper there, headlights became spheres of bright light, that dimmed in the thickening fog. I shuddered as the crisp spring breeze chilled the skin beneath my shoulder blades despite my shirt and sweatshirt. I couldn't stay out here for much longer.

The wind had been dancing with the trees all day, shaking branches thick with leaves. From the greenery sprouting up through winding roots all the way up to the naked tips at the top, it had skipped in flowing movements worthy of any dancer, graceful and perfect.

Now the lights have vanished and the cars with them, leaving me alone with a wind, playful and cruel.


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Comments (2 so far!)

ElshaHawk LoA

ElshaHawk LoA

Are the trees thick with leaves or naked at the top? Around here they are still naked, not even budding yet. Are there fir trees? Sorry, I like trees. Fog, not so much.

  • #3357 Posted 5 days ago
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Robert Quick

Robert Quick

Bushy at the bottom, thinner naked branches at the top. Not fir, they had leaves, although there were fir trees in the distance. I like fog the same way I like fire. I think it is beautiful when it's not scary.

  • #3361 Posted 4 days ago
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  • Published 6 days ago.
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