The Faint Voice (& Lithia Park, Ashland Oregon leaves)
More questions, more violence, more fear.
Morning feed & news, FB at noon, TV at night.
I say no, no...no. No thank you. I got the memo.
I've voted, I donated. I know there's much to be done, but still.
When the slander, the falsity, the outrage is finally turned off, what is left?
What comes into the silence of the morning? What voice remains?
The healing rains of winter have begun.
The smell of damp leaves.
Water sluicing around rocks.
What is that other faint voice?
So now,
sloughing off this old shell
my soft body oozes out to find a new home.
I go out, looking for you.
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