It Always Starts with Mist
on the ridgeline. But maybe
I’m being dramatic.
I do know that at the very
least, mist on the ridgeline
sits me criss-cross-applesauce
in my limbic system
and its perpetual
pitch, yaw, and roll.
But let me say it anyway.
It all starts with mist
on the ridgeline
and ends with me
threshed
hulled
pitted
by the creek.
2 thoughts on "It Always Starts with Mist"
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Love the whole and especially “mist on the ridgeline
sits me criss-cross-applesauce
in my limbic system”
I agree with Pam and how we end by the creek.