I watch the ripples change their size
But never leave the stream
Of warm impermanence
And so the days float through my eyes
But still the days seem the same
And these children that you spit on
As they try to change their worlds
Are immune to your consultations
They're quite aware of what they're goin' through

Friday, December 4, 2009

Story Bones

Odd thought of the day because I've read several blog posts about the arrival (late or OMFG it snowed) of winter. For us here in NE Ohio, we missed some of the snow of last week, being cocooned in some odd parallel universe of summer winds. However the frost giants have arrived today and beat the mercurial temperatures into submission. (okay, you can use that as part of the bone as well, although I think it would be in a different story)

"No matter how hard you run, winter will find you. On fleet foot or clad in hobnailed boots, winter comes for us all."

And here, I hope, you see winter as a metaphor for death. (no, this is just poetics, not personal bleakery)

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