Jumbley

We went together, so long ago, us two, to this place, I remember. I'll always have the memories. When last we came, it was much different. Much different than it is now, between us.   Not worse, not better, just different. Though returning here makes me remember. It makes me miss us, it makes me miss love. Here with you again, laughing, enjoying, solemnly observing, I keep my heart from coming out my throat. I would never break our silence, though silence seems too harsh a word, to describe the connection we share. What we have is special, what we had was love, and I'll never forget either. You touched my hand, and my

The Mourning Mountains A work of fiction by Stephen Pownall March 26, 2007 The trees stood; not straight, but bent into the wind to receive its blows softly.  The branches stretched out to the cloudy sky, their bark gray like the flesh of a frozen corpse.  They did not sway, but the wind hummed a sorrowful song as it passed through their branches. The song echoed through the mountains, as if the very rocks cried out in sorrow for the loss of a loved one.  Thanks to the constancy of the wind, this song played always, filling the heart with tension, making even some of the more stalwart of men uncomfortable.  The barren landscape, almost dev

Summer Haiku Leonard Cohen Silence and a deeper silence when the crickets hesitate.