When I Was Young

When I was young years ago, it seemed like the spirit moved through the trees more often,

and there was never any malice in the air

lingering

in the shadows,

even the ghosts were innocent of blood,

and were seldom scary.

Everything was so different back then.

Poetry and Image Copyright © 2021 rivers renewed

Note: This is fiction.

Writer’s Light

As I write this, light dances through the window over my shoulder with shadows from the shades and pine trees moving across the wall. I realize I write a lot about these pine trees, and the red maples, oaks and poplar trees, as if there is a strength hidden.

I hold the hawks close to my heart, or it could be, just that one that likes to fly close to me, at eye level. It can see it now in a larger sense that courage takes wing and sometimes leaves a feather as a souvenir of victory. Sharing more than light, and clearly defining my true self.

The sun is now moving a little closer to the horizon, as I squint…..closing the shade.

Poetry and Image Copyright © 2021 rivers renewed