It’s the simple oddities, the altered and possibly even strange, that I enjoy most. Is this the road less traveled that Frost wrote of so long ago? Then again, long in who’s mind? That partial-swamp, the pathway leading deep into the woods, was itself before the words were written. And how strange for me to think those saplings are the new growth; two of which are already bent at the knees forever bowing to the less disadvantaged.
It kicks in but won’t stay-
tick – tick – tick-
A kid playing with the rusted door of an old cemetery
darkening woods playing games with the kid’s mind
as night slides in
you really should
The brook rambled on. Pushing forward, begging the boy to continue. The boy wanted to adventure further. Though the sun had started to dip just below the tree line, he wasn’t afraid. He wondered if he had enough time. The boy listened to a voice whisper from above. ‘If we placed time into a bucket with water and soap, what do you believe might happen to the bubbles? Two options. The bubbles would become gone instantaneously because time would have run out. Or, the bubbles would last forever because time granted it so.’ The boy didn’t move. Heart pounding thinking of time. ‘What if I move now? What will happen?’ -M. Taggart copyright 2017