Laundry

[myrueme]

    The wind roars in dandelions and a mane of white halos her index finger.  The sky is a banana peel, bruised and being peeled back.  Clouds come.  She sits at the top of the hill with her legs crossed, legs stained green.  The clothesline filled with waving dresses and socks and jeans.  Rain falls so far down the hill that she can't even hear it

Comments

[shesdownstairs]

I like what you write in the summer.

[myrueme]

Thanks. Me too. The winter stuff is all depressing as hell.

[anonymous]

"and the clouds are drapes." very visual -Ganin