Image: Adapted from Canva Pro
Near a concrete verge, a snowdrop bows to a north wind, an act of defiance against minds immersed in roadway oblivion. Inside an aperture, carbon white sits on a cold day, sprinkling winter soil, a camera sure in its capture of a new order. Above the din, can anyone hear a robin sing, Or the mindless torture of scraped earth?
Nice Davy
Thank you, Brenda. That’s most appreciated.
Now that’s a contrasting picture. I wonder if anything is audible when the din within oneself is the loudest. Some thought to inspire a poetic piece. Wish you well, Davy. Have a great year ahead. Take care. 🙂
That’s a great point, Terveen and thank you for making it. Sometimes as writer I struggle to hear myself because of the internal noise. Perhaps that presents both a positive and negative side to writing. Take care.