Hope in shades of oil-slick. Mother's hands coming down to meet each other. To meet me.
A bell tolls. Soft, gentle, light creeps. The pulse reverberates. A chime. A toll. Light fades.
I am porcelain surrounded by sycamore.
Blood red stretched taut. Plastic wrap ripe to snap. Hues threadbare.
On the porch, a lamp burns low. Brighter for the dark.
permalink to story: http://5card.cogdogblog.com/show.php?id=40201
Click once to select, then copy and paste HTML to your own blog/website.
Do you have another interpretation of the story behind these pictures? Add it to the collection as a new story!