loose threads

a smattering of things

Jo McCrory is a writer and artist living in northern California.

Day 25: country roads..

it’s easiest to find at dusk, under a full moon, or shortly after dawn when every living thing heaves a relaxed sigh.

climb the nearby hill and find the rock that grants you sight of the rib cage valley with its expansion and contraction. (a heartbeat, my heartbeat.)

the archer aims straight for my worn rooftop, my candle on the sill, my palms open and waiting.

find the patch of blue sky that’s visible twenty-four hours a day, and proceed under the flowered arch.

quiet, quiet. the key is already in your hand.

perhaps i am a figment of my own haunted imagination.

today my coffee is a little flat and disappointing.

plan for the worst, hope for the slightly less worst.

i can shrink myself down and then blame you for it, if you’d like.

guilded books for guilded wings and this pretty cage.

the house is on fire, i’m writing at the kitchen table, and the firemen’s hoses are full of gasoline.

left or right, the water always kisses the shore with the same salty lips.

despair can strangle hope without moving a muscle, without raising its voice, without so much as a glance.

when i look at the clouds, when i behold a tiny flower, when i am still, the deepest part of me whispers your name.

i am extracting my needless apologies and giving them wings.

i will never be sorry for standing in the sun after so many days in the rain.