Your periwinkle eyes, were focused like a needle on the storefront window. So, in that Summer gleam, we made memories that seem impossible to beat When we ate sourdough, And danced; light as a cloud, as we spread our joy down that street.  

I see a cloud of white Against a periwinkle sky With the sun shining through In streaks that beat against The skyscraper and spread out Before the glass storefront

(for hour 11—holiday prompt from hour 10)   Christmas Eve Sing-Along   Sleigh bells ring I’m listening to deep, soulful chimes of handbells near the dais where the harpist strums and the little drummer boy rumpa-tum-tum-tums with a glance to the director for her smile…

When we turn 20 we begin to feel something. A feeling stronger than the rest. It starts small in the chest, A pulse, vibration, a flash It gets bigger, fast for some Growing and overwhelming All the rest. Most get light, positive colors Yellow joy,…

princess, spoiled by the love of someone so ruthless he’d shield you from any pain you fall, are lost without him and maybe that was never his intention and maybe it was, there is no telling now but you, you need to keep going no…

Everything-Is-Just-Alright The depths of color splint my spirit in two.  This, the way my heart looks on the  everything-is-just-alright kinda days.  The shimmering promise of blue skies and blue moods pulling equally as I waiver in almost-contented ness.  My heart shall dive into the neverending…

White, cold, silent. Floating from the sky. Jack Frost usually strikes at night. His is an eerie, beautiful silence. Flakes catch light and shine back proudly. Almost gravity-defying in their slow descent from above. Stick around for a while. Stay and play. Wash the world…

It’s difficult to be the Messiah, play-acting his death on a torture stake. Times like this teach us what death means, remind us how a man, sinless, was beating from neighbouring streets down to Golgotha. A cup of grief is always as heavy as grief….

Little Danny sees a hotel and trees his father, not nice the typewriter like ice to the touch.   Twins lure him to play in a bloodied hallway where they want him to stay forever.   A pus-bloated woman beckons, an omen of the wringing…

It could always be counted on that regardless of what the rest of the year held, Christmas was magical. It was perfect. Regardless of what the rest of the year doled if you could hold out for Christmas everything would be okay. Hope would be…