Winter. A time of year we all know well.
A time of year when we hear the ringing of every bell.
A time of year when adults laugh and children play,
A time of year that lasts many a day.
Posted in response to the challenge PAST CONTESTS: Winter Tales.
I could ramble on all day about the ethics of all the things our country’s done.
But I won’t.
Instead I’ll say this one thing: it’s going to happen again.
Walking home alone.
She spots a man nearby.
He whistles, shouts a lewd comment.
She tries to ignore him at first.
He yells again.
She calls back, laughing nervously, "Maybe another time!"
He doesn't listen.
I write longhand.
Journal, pencil, print.
Letters melding together in a harmony on the page.
Graphite scratching the paper, pencil sharpening every 5 minutes.
Lined paper, perfect for doodles and random thoughts.
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