Autumn's a River,
streams of gold, burnt reds, yellows-
my boat is ready.
How does it work?
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.
More stories from Kathleen Thompson and writers in Poets and other communities.
Walking in the woods is my daily cup of tea as I steep in nature; my perfect elixer for aging with grace. With each walk I see my personal landscape differently,
By Kathleen Thompson5 months ago in Poets
The silence between us is like the ice thickening on the lake of oblivion. I could trudge out to the center from the shore
By Natalie Wilkinson7 days ago in Poets
Your hair is flowing down I see a swan open its wings How breathtakingly beautiful you are
By Marianne Lee6 days ago in Poets
It ended like every other stupid idea. Badly, and alone. I’m researching digital confession ethics, he said. A tech ethicist. He gestured at floating data I couldn’t see then pulled out a physical notebook. Actual paper, fountain pen. He held it up like he was showing me scripture.
By Nicky Frankly4 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.