Poem- The Birds Know

Sometimes we would twist our face
into a blue towel to see what was real.
Take a seat on today. Watch the birds.
Listen to their laughter. Be with them.

-M. Taggart

Rustic Wednesday 7

New Hampshire. White Mountains.

Photo taken by Matt’s phone.

Enjoy,

Matt

Rustic Wednesday

Come, let’s play in the woods.

Location: Northern Maine.
Photo taken by Matt’s phone.

See

Our subconscious thirsts to be seen; let’s build a window.   -M. Taggart

 

Photo taken by Matt’s cell phone in Maine.

Rustic Wednesday

What was, is not now.   -M. Taggart

 

Location: Northern Maine.
Photo: Matt’s Cell.

Home Again

Everything Changes, once in a while.
I’m not a fan of the word every(thing),
every(time). Not everything is an every anything.
It’s a bit like when someone tells me that, “I always…”
when in fact I don’t always anything.

I drove down a little dirt path, covered with leaves,
to this old, dilapidated, and left-behind mill. At some
point, it’ll not be crumbling. It’ll be gone; traveling with
the current of the lake toward the small stream leading
into the forest and back home again.

It’s possible that we all go back home again.

-M. Taggart

 

(photo credit- Matt’s cell phone.)