Poetry from a Time Forgotten for Thursday, July 10, 2008

Thursday, July 10, 2008

Humidity

This morning I drink the air, a cup of humidity born of earth and sky. I will miss sitting among the fire flies in a poet's cove. There is no relief except to wait it out indoors where poetry feels fake like the cool air of the air conditioner, but you're thankful for both even if the poetry moves... Sign in to see full entry.

posted by Ariala at 4:08 AM | add or view comments (7) | leave calling card | link to this | view only this entry
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