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15 Feb: Winter Daybreak
Daybreak 7:15 a.m. Saturday.The sky is the same dreary expanseof rain sodden soil that mirrorsmy emotional tone. Grey hills that catch the light,lifeless as steel—the samelandscape as Sunday, Tuesday, and every daythis February. It’s a Brontë sort of colour,of stunted joy felt by a blossom spurnedand snubbedby a winter chill. Some artwork is created using…
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14 Feb: Ten Things of Thankful (updated with music)
In no particular order: 1. Red squirrels are returning to the forest (once endangered). Saw one run along the fence a few days ago. They are very small; half the size of a grey squirrel. This photo is from last year; it’s just so you know what they look like. 2. Thankful for YouTube. It…
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14 Feb: Journal of Thoughts from Last Night
The I In It Last night, I sat on the edge of my bed beside my father, who I suppose I should mention has been dead for a good number of years, and he turned to me and asked, “How are you?” and I said I hadn’t many complaints worthy of mentioning, and I reciprocated,…
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13 Feb: A Thursday Door
Bushboy (Brian Dodd) shares photos of doors, but not just any doors. Spectacular doors from his journeys. Dan’s Thursday Doors opened the door on this. I love doors of all sorts. I’ve trawled through my photos and found a few to share. ©Misky 2022-2025 Shared on X #amwriting @bushboywhotweet and @DAntion
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10.2 A Six: Et Scriptum Est
Beyond an Intersection Named After an English King and a SaintSix Sentence Story: Day 8 Part 2 Et Scriptum Est — And It’s Written Continued from Part One “Nick—what?” He points under the table at the book—words etching blink-fast across the page: “The word invasive will fill his head; he will question if this book…
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9.2. Wisting
It’s Saturday, 21.00, and I am watching Wisting on BBC 4, Norwegian, subtitled in English, although I don’t need the subtitles, and there’s a man standing on a wooden dock that rocks with the brush of each wave under its pontoons, and a large dog standing on heaped mounds of rock that look shaped by…
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9 Feb: 12 Minutes Past 8
Twelve Minutes Past Eight (A List Poem) Chimney Smoke in curls Grass hard with frost 2 doves pacing the roof ridge Scent of oatmeal A spoon stirring coffee A blackbird singing in the apple treeIce melting in drips Clock-radio playing upstairs Imagery and poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2025.
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A Haibun to Darkness
Waiting for the Dark I sit by the window, the winter trees watching over me as daffodils push through soil and crocuses wait for tomorrow’s sun, and I write this, the light fading until gone, until the paper is more part of darkness than day, and I sit through the hour into night, alone by…
It's Still Life 