oldyarns. tells the bowerbird stories

story 294. alone.

sitting in the heavy stillness

of this too warm

summer's night.

 house finally quiet.

silent, silence.

a tiny sliver of the day.

words,

the right words

are not near.

watching days slide by.

story 293. bloomed.

my perennial favourite,

bloomed.

velvet petals,

wilful scent.

borrowed from a garden

along the footpath.

dos gardenia.

now sitting quietly

on the kitchen window sill.