No story this morning. The muse greeted me yesterday morning while out for a run through the forest. The smell of mist, fog and vegetation. The sounds of wildlife, the rush of the flowing creek the cool, crisp fall air. The green, reds, yellows, purple and grey. The rush of inspiration hit and I had to stop to take it all in. I don’t run with my notebook and pen but I did have my phone. So I stood along side the road and used the notebook section in my iPhone. I think these smartphones might catch on? I’ll return with more stories shortly but until then here’s the poem that spoke to me.
The morning pit and the pendulum
Swings and sways to the morning bells; the sounds of hell and hounds awake the shells of a broken man.
The cocktails swell in the morbid cell only to writhe and shake awake the webs of a shattered sleep.
What once was the host suited for a corpse is now ripe with the purple ashes from a sweet winters sleep.
The Ravens and crows sing their songs of ancient scripts.
The magenta clouds drip into the moist apple grey sky.
This morning brings presents of yesterday’s past.
Choose wisely and breed the dawning of a new day.