Wring your socks, see if it makes a difference to the amount of squish in waterlogged leather. The tight embrace gives.
A little, and toes ahh until they chafe in the stretch.
Soles, arching, wrinkled and cold. Shrunk like shoulders hunch, to hide transparent tops and paste down trunks. Little rivers of it still running, from your hair.
All countenance ruined. Hard work a mash of white and blue. Fists curl and unfurl, on straps trying to keep it together as Knees knock and bend and curl, at great antipodes.
Completely done with the farce.
“Just when will I get home?”
-Neru
Drowned cat, wet rat. What beautiful pain, being caught in the rain.
It’s 2023! And it’s dripping on my lawn chair in a most unappealing cadence. I realize I haven’t written in a year. My stories had nowhere to to go, but I’m brushing off the yellowed paper and scratching the ink till it runs. I’m back!
I still have the day job but I’ll be focusing on completing The Boy and his Snail ( working title, I might just call it Dewey), a rainy season story.
2022 was Storyteller Academy and the seedling of BNCH, a nature at night story. I’ve now switched to my other visual art projects. My colors this year are Indigo and MossGreen. In homage to both these stories.
My image this year: a shivered exhalation into shimmering verdancy.
Cool wet, or wet cold? Tries are my Trellis. Let’s grow.
nerueru 