startled stranger, you may be wondering how it is that quite suddenly what very much appears to be nothing other than a slightly misshapen pumpkin (yes, take a gentle whiff) pancake has turned up, or rather fallen, onto the stiff blue wool shoulder of your … Continue reading extra cinnamon
almost like night, eyes closed, outside, crusted snow protests beneath some dog's feet I admit it's possible the sun hasn't reached me yet © Sarah Whiteley
it has been a gift to lean into you to split the light between us, and place tentative names to movement but morning rises and corrects us some emptiness-es are just that – not sky after all, not expectation – realization blooms from the wrists, … Continue reading morning realization
brown drifts of coffee grounds, and the tappings of the black-capped chickadee finding rhythm with the tick-ticking of spring rain on new-green locust leaves the passing hours mold the morning into the firmer lines of day, tracing the flights of fugitive birds - red hawk, … Continue reading what the day contains
little fuses of bliss confides the woman I once saw flash an oncoming bus on a different January day I played in the snow in my (ha ha!) mini skirt when the sky turned blue-black and what's up with that? so beautiful, and I hope … Continue reading little fuses of bliss
© Sarah Whiteley This is from a little project with tanka that I’ve been having fun with. Stay tuned for more!
the gulls face the waves perched on their own reflections water reaches nothing is washed away except time from this day © Sarah Whiteley