fey_mouse
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My stories
Oil's Well
A slick, alien as peacock feathers spills over the path welling from a rabbit burrow in the bluebell wood. Those who holed up there now huddle wet...
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- 722 reads
Down In The Woods
Impartiallly warm an open palm a light stroke as if God spoke between each leaf of beech and oak. Here, away from my own kind I'll unwind my mind...
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- 782 reads
In answer
The noose of walking boot and welly and the occasional incautious stilletto loosens: now the fresh sprung grass reclaims the Common ground Freedoms...
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- 796 reads
Just Ice
The world I have I make my own; I write a window of ice but you turn away. What point of reference can I give you, guided by the sun? The beauty I...
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- 708 reads
No I contact
words are dead unread. in the black and white of hindsight people seek to topple an accepted creed always pushing, bold, gold-rushing, prying, trying...
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- 733 reads