Bleak




Mournful wind song shudders the old aerials. 
Solid thud of shotgun sounds from the banks of the swollen river, under a plain sky coloured like thick ice. 
Any leaf that has not fallen shivers in the moan of the wind. 
Birds' song carries a restless note. 
Beauty strikes starkly. 
Beyond the river, a faint view of moorlands, where any creature can live and die and never be known. 
Bones are weathered, lay stoic in clumps of enduring grass.



Comments

klahanie said…
And with this posting, I can see a reflection of those who have lived and died, never really being known.

Thank you, Lily.
18 January 2013 at 00:59
Suze said…
I'd like to think it is someone's job to note the living and passing of every creature.
18 January 2013 at 01:37
Geo. said…
I love how you make the cold and dormant details of winter riparian into a living organism, huge and whole. My compliments.
18 January 2013 at 02:20
Optimistic Existentialist said…
I love this...you gave life to this unknown being...beautiful.
18 January 2013 at 13:08
Lisa Southard said…
Much response to the creatures who live without note: hence the following post! (That + snow)
Thank you all for your thoughtful provocations :-)
18 January 2013 at 23:36
Buttons Thoughts said…
Oh I am loving your words :). B
19 January 2013 at 16:50
Lisa Southard said…
Thank you Buttons- your descriptions of farm life are rather life affirming :-)
19 January 2013 at 20:28
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