The sound of dry leaves blowing in light wind tricked me into thinking he was coming up behind me even though I knew he was still taking steps across ancient terrain, across the shield. His horse, painted belly, spots of white nuzzling his head in my palms every time he saw me and me, always … Continue reading When he comes home
coming home
Home-ing
Home is where you always are no matter what the weather or who the bartender is. Home is always inside you; you don’t need an apartment but you’ll be more comfortable that way. Look for your skeleton keys (you dropped them on the driveway) and pull away the curtain so your shadow can see the … Continue reading Home-ing
Angela Mason 