It's Still Life

Paper Trail

Somewhere out of the ninth month, midnight came on me suddenly as the first of January.

I had lost three months to emails and copious (mostly illegible) notes of maybe-there’s-a-poem-in-this, and to-do/shopping lists, blog comments wanting attention, dozens of daily mail shots from the postman for funeral homes, assisted living, stair lifts, vitamins and supplements, window cleaners, men with handy skills, and emails from wishful Russian brides blessed by a long line of all the saints and martyrs who stepped from their niches to taunt the reader back to faith …

and I stared out the window at autumn leaves falling like honeyed stars, and walked away from the whole hamster on a running wheel thing.

dVerse Prosery: Out of the Ninth-month midnight. (excerpt from Walt Whitman’s “Out of the Cradle Endlessly”). Write a 144-word (or less) flash fiction using the given line. Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified as such in the ALT text or captioned. Images are copyright and not to used without permission, which I willingly give when asked, and when not for commercial use. Imagery and poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2024.