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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 4047 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention Languid (adj.) Gary Blankenship These are the days to lie listless beneath a canopy of maple, their roots set deep enough to survive summer’s seemingly endless drought, days spent in torpid motion, every movement set at a speed designed to save enough energy to make it to night’s quick quiet. Nothing brought on the wind rouses me from my stupor – not the scent of aloe oil, lime, honeysuckle, even oregano; nor the city’s summer sounds - wet children and disturbed dogs, fireworks beyond their pull date, sirens and the absence of bird song- carried to me on warm winds as I lay, barely breathing, undisturbed as dead grass, my thoughts unable to find a line, to find anything more in fact than a wish for daffodils and a spring mist. |
