Tangerine: A Book of Hours

There are deer in the woods, resting in the hollow. They melt the snow beneath them and stand out in silhouette: nut brown against white.

I've signed the SFWA Statement of Support for Space Exploration. It was such a sad shock to see what happened to Columbia and her crew...

Last night the wind roared and scoured -- it made a day bright and crystal-cold gritty. A chill breeze still frets with naked trees. The pond is the color of pewter. I'm brewing green tea and making a sandwich.

This month is evaporating.

My Dad's birthday (and Valentine's Day) is Friday. The Pittsburgh Auto Show starts on Saturday. Kelli and I are hoping to get out to that this weekend. Beauty and the Beast (her slightly early birthday present) is on the 26th. Time is flying.

And today is white, black, and warm chestnut-brown.

Close to the heart of February.

Posted by The Allurium at 11:19 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Music and candlelight -- a tiny flame shivering. Lips like licorice. Cold mist falling down outside in the black. Saw a photo of Paris once, beautiful and pristine in monochrome. Stone stairs descending under streetlamps and bare trees.

Midnight.

A second hand metronomes the hour.

Friday-to-Saturday: fluid present. January-to-February. Cold water; inside, outside...melting into icy puddles on the inky ground.

Loose in the neck. Relaxed and still.

Thinking of the sea at night. Black under black, liquid under air...churning. The salty hiss of water over sand. Nighttime surf heartbeat. Stars. The curl and curves of luminous foam.

Like snow.

Like here.

White ghosts tumbled together on the ground, thining down to memories under vague rain. Seconds, minutes...hours, washing.

And blue candlelight, flickering slow.

Posted by The Allurium at 12:35 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)