Status Updates From When You See My Mother, Ask...

This is like my inner monologue via short stories

Here is a cruel beauty. Here is thunder & flying mist, craggy granite beds of tiny wildflowers & mother of pearl tears glistening down the fierce cheeks of red clay ghosts. Here is the sound of wind like a forsaken witch sobbing along the crow fly cliffs, lost in the nether sky….

Oh, she had questioned, yes , and often, perched atop the ocean cliffs as silent and as steadfast as a pre-storm full in flight pondered meter, inch & impact, pondered childhood lost and demons and eternal night.