Only A Suggestion

The brook gushes white beneath a honeysuckle overhang. Still no sign of crabapples. According to a four year-old beavers are both cute and silly. Forget-me-nots have tough stems. The field awash with black-eyed susans.

The field alit in a brief splash of sunlight. Another person I don't know who knows my name which pleases me. We always have to chase the dog where the logging trail ends. Wild strawberries. The depth of my anger and fear never ceases to amaze me.

Sentences are not as appealing as they used to be. I studied some bad fiction yesterday, concluding the real flaw lay in the use of characters as chess pieces, and the awkward end (exposition) to which the dialogue was put. People talk. Much of what I profess to believe I simply don't believe. Push inevitably comes to shove, especially when the ground is muddy.

Yet there are moments. No salamanders - actually newts - but who's counting. Your little legs grew tired and instead of asking for water you asked for chocolate. We scoured the tall grass for fawns and found only a suggestion. I love the idea of God but you are here, aren't you?