Journal Writings on a Random Sunday
Powerful wind accompanied darkness, wind chimes chaotic, tiny hail, miniature pearls on a royal blue vinyl table cloth. Leaves rush up the hill and over the ridge where the deer walk at night. I narrate this scene to you.
I’m in National Mine, a place where houses shake, dishes in the cupboard vibrate the same time each day as the mine dynamites.
As quick as the wind arrived it is gone. No birds at the feeder, I say. Most of the leaves are off the trees.
Tonight I will watch for black bear and the orphaned baby moose.