in a field of white, a crimson pond
spread its curious shores
away from the thicket.
beyond, geese honked their
warning two minutes too late,
their wings like laughter as they took to the sky
loose threads
a smattering of things
recent posts
about
Jo McCrory is a writer and artist living in northern California.
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so light you can hardly feel it but it patters soft against the metal awning. birds sing in distant trees, little chatters rise and fade as hummingbirds zip from place to place. enough rain has accumulated to begin a slow drip
drip
drip
from the eaves and leaves. just now, a sigh of wind that makes me pull my sweater a little closer. coffee on my tongue.
somewhere in americana, you might be drinking coffee, too.
loose threads 