With Our Hands Wide Open…

There were beings coming out of the trees today…it was if they were attached somehow, for everytime the wind blew the spirits would begin a sort of dance in like cursive writing with big scrawling swirls. Then all of the sudden it would stop and all these shattered pieces would fall in intervals down, down, until they never hit the ground. Yes, this is the little beauty of winter here…Let me tell you what it is like…When I woke up yesterday morning I wished that you were there with me to wait on the rising sun…Because like the world was keeping a secret, so the most alluring scene was un-shadowed by dawn…every branch was embraced by luminescent snow…The sky was coming up through the woods and over the cold rock faces in slight pink hue that fell away into a sweet champagne…the kind that lingers in your mouth like the love on your tongue…mmm but anyway it was captivating…Im tired…Come put your fingers in my eyes…I think it would feel good…I really miss that coffee shop we would frequent…leaning upon our mismatched mugs , smiling and watching our daughter play on the fading wood floor half-way behind the counter. She would smile and let her love flow around the tables to every face that came through the screen door. We loved that door with the broken hinge because it would always slam. Most of the time we spent on the floors carelessly singing and you were always pulling some brilliant melody out of that guitar…Spending the days like that, letting the numbers fall of the clock so we could see her real face…she is beautiful without that mask. Yeah, we were beautiful…Sing on my love, the streets in Maine have always been home…I’ll let you go look for your place, but these streets in Maine have always loved you…Close with Atlantic, sharing deep moving land with London and Dublin. Put you fingers in the water, I’ll put mine in too so that we can touch each other while we are away. Have you found anything to hang on our walls today?

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Filed under -Letters to Louise-, Dawn..., Journals Unabridged

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