Odd Walking Thoughts

My thoughts are tied into a bundle of hands holding cries that never mattered because I don’t know them. She stepped into a puddle. The water was mixed with fine particles of dust; the leaves fell so nicely from the sky she wanted everything about them, while the sun kept repeating that the puddle was there.

-M. Taggart

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s