Leaves of Oak
When I squint my eyes,
I can see the sunlight play
Across the tattered beige
Of the camouflage nets
And imagine frost-etched
Leaves of oak,
Clinging to branches unshed.
So if I close my eyes, then
Maybe I can imagine this
As nothing more than a walk
Through the forests of Hiawatha,
December stinging my skin
Sweetly.
I can see the sunlight play
Across the tattered beige
Of the camouflage nets
And imagine frost-etched
Leaves of oak,
Clinging to branches unshed.
So if I close my eyes, then
Maybe I can imagine this
As nothing more than a walk
Through the forests of Hiawatha,
December stinging my skin
Sweetly.
posted by Milo at 7:45 PM
5 Comments:
Vivid.
I'm grateful you're still alive. Grateful for your posts. Grateful you've got Anne. You'll be home for Christmas again. In the meantime, keep taking good care of yourself.
I agree with cinnabari. Vivid.
hey! this was beautiful. a little different than what im used of yours, but none the less i like it
x trish
This is great. A lot of words stick out and make a vivid impression, "squit", "tattered", "clinging", "frost-etched", "stinging", and the closing oxymoron.
Thanks. It's a pleasure to read.
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