Stories and Dreamlike Skies

Last night, white clouds rushed across the dark sky like ghosts of morning. Like a Victorian vicar's daughters having relinquished propriety along with their bodies to scud across the moors of their uncouth dreams. Rain fell - wild poetry of the sea.

This morning is dew-laced sunshine and chiffon skies.

The world is not a story but a compendium of tales. Or maybe not even that, but a gathering of excerpts, poems, glimpses, untitled pieces, tossed about. I used to think I was the same, but I'm learning slowly that I am a novel - intricate certainly, and with half-poems in the margins, but a contained body of work nonetheless. It's only that I have been reading aloud from other people's books for too long.

I am the afternoon falling quietly, rose-lit and cold, into a night storm. And you? What weather, what form of story, what strange metaphor, are you? You don't need to tell me, but I wonder, do you know?


  1. I think I am a mixture of heavy wet snow, wild slashing thunderstorms with just a bit of cool fall sun sprinkled mornings.
    Thank you for making me think this morning.

  2. remember those elves who helped the shoemaker in the middle of the night? I feel like one of those little elves stitching love into electric blue leather round and round the branch each night from midnight to dawn

    1. PS as an artist I always have to make my metaphors literally by taking them into the physical

  3. always when i think of this, the word that comes to me is 'palimpsest'... i am many things all at once, and contain things from other people and other times. i am a princess in a tower. a silenced woman frantically spinning nettles. i am a swan calling over the rivers. a fox guarding her kits. snow falling gently on fields. tiny flowers that may heal or may poison. a fragment of song that sticks in the mind. breakage and mending.

    and now, i must pursue this idea further on my blog, (with credit to you for the idea, of course!)... thank you for a wonderful writing prompt!


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