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0407: Violet’s Phraseology
A Persistent Syllable not overnight,not immediate,gradual,like a shadow’s slow wrap around a flagpole,like the tap’s persistent syllablecounting out moments. No more today, she says,and closes her book,as if a page holds a boundaryagainst the drip,the drift,the soft unravelof sight. Would you mind, love,chopping the onions?I don’t thinkI should. All the words we hear.All the sounds…
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0307: A Thursday Door
Dan’s Thursday Doors opened the way to share my love of doors — of all sorts. I’ve trawled through my photos and found a few to share. Bushboy (Brian Dodd) also shares photos of doors from his journeys. ©Misky 2022-2026 Shared on X #amwriting @bushboywhotweet and @DAntion
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0207: Brigid’s Diary – A Six
The Epilogue: A Return to Thyme Brigid and Felreil left Room 215 as they had entered it, by the hidden closet, with the good sense not to ask whether one century had finished or merely misplaced them in someone else’s plan. The bellhop-automaton raised a final card, though neither of them paused to read it;…
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Ten Things of Thankful
1. Thankful for plants that thrive in searing heat and high humidity, scoff at slugs and snails, and attract every bee in the neighbourhood. Thank you Woodland Germander or Woodland Sage. Also thankful for Claude AI who correctly named this plant after Peder tossed away the label that came with it. 2. A slow walk, fresh…
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0207: Everywhere Poems
An Everywhere Poem: Over The Mole sun rises.tops the trees.crow on a branch. squirrel runsthe fence length,cheeks fullof autumn. rose buds yesterday.opened today. hard to knowif that’s pinkor peach. I heardthere’s a boy, ten, — perhaps hangingover the stream. school childrenfound him — from the footbridgeover the streamthat disappearsundergroundnot far from here. the onewe locals…
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0107: Everywhere Poems
An Everywhere Poem: Stream of Consciousness (Peak) Early spring.Snow still holding the peaks.I walk into crisp mountain air and there it is again. Ozone.Thin air seems to gather it. Sharp.Metallic.The scent of lightning. Like being a curious child and wondering what a penny tasted like. I found out.Not with my tongue,but somewhere behind my eyes,where…
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3006: Brigid’s Diary – Two Sixes
Part 15 & 16: 1842, Cagnes-sur-Mer, France (Brigid’s Diary, Winter: 1842: one year on) Where is Felreil?That’s what I want to know. Where is he in his black frock coat, moving as if Boreas lived in its pockets, striding streets and alleys in long English-blackened boots, as though Provence’s glossy night had always been part…
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3006: The Liturgy
Liturgy for His Return, Cagnes-sur-Mer (Summer 1842 — Where the road remembers him) I. The Hill That Has Grown SteeperI found the hill steeper than I remembered,or else I had brought backless of myself than I meant to. This is what a year does.This is what the navy does.This is what it meansto be carried…
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2906: Six Sentence Story
Brigid and Felreil Arrive in Room 215 Brigid and Felreil came through the hidden closet of Room 215 as though stepping between centuries were merely a poor plan carried out with good manners, and Felreil, without visible surprise, laid his French Imperial Navy-cut coat across a time-aged leather wing-back chair with the air of a…
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2906: The Liturgy
Liturgy for the Year of His Absence(Cagnes-sur-Mer, Winter 1842 — Waiting Becomes a Way of Life) I. The Question That Never Leaves Where is Felreil? Not a question of geography.Not a question of distance.A question of existence:whether the world still holds him,whether the shadows have released him,whether he is still stridingin his English-blackened bootsthrough streets…
