The wind will keep them gossiping for hours. Just under, under the mud, their sensual toes curl for the touch of water. Before a snowfall one can follow their tracks, down and back. They disappear in their tattered capes, belted with buckles of gold. They are the pampered ones - often spoiled brats. On hot days they wear spinelike feathers pinned to bonnets of blue. Sometimes snobbish and high-strung, they are unpredictable, these tall girls.
Being an Indiana boy, transplanted to Virginia, this touched a deep chord inside of me. Sorry for the plagiarism, Michelle, I felt the same. Nice, Americana imagery.
I have had this re-acurring dream
where I am lured out of my window by a mysterious man
(handsome I am sure) his shadow anyway,
and we embrace in the darkness surrounded by cornstalks that block the majority of the sunlite....
not really but for some reason this is what I thought as I read this
thank you for sharing I did enjoy your poem
and the thoughts that lingered from *BigSmiles
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where I am lured out of my window by a mysterious man
(handsome I am sure) his shadow anyway,
and we embrace in the darkness surrounded by cornstalks that block the majority of the sunlite....
not really but for some reason this is what I thought as I read this
thank you for sharing I did enjoy your poem
and the thoughts that lingered from *BigSmiles
growing up in ohio as i did, this brought back the sights, sounds and smells of cornfields. and i shucked plenty of ears :)
love this descriptive delight--thank you
(((HUGS))) and love, karla. :)