Things I Don’t Say
1 min readFeb 10, 2022
--
This time of day,
this golden cast light of
low-slung cold sun
steeps me in
melancholy.
I breathe, eyeing the
pruned back
hydrangea,
now bare,
gray-brown sticks.
--
This time of day,
this golden cast light of
low-slung cold sun
steeps me in
melancholy.
I breathe, eyeing the
pruned back
hydrangea,
now bare,
gray-brown sticks.
Just another writer trying to stay afloat in a sea of words. Author of several novels. Wannabe mermaid. Mother. Trying to age gracefully with no grace in sight.