December 4 by The Running Son
Windtown
Chill doom whistle
through the window slit.
Coyotes roam,
at home in the wind current.
All night long owls eye me
hypervigilant.
The beetle finds its hole
and burrows, burrows.
Old beetles find their home
til the cold winds quit.
by Jim Aldrich (:
©2014 JimAldrich
☀ ☁
.namaste. -• ö.tH(ink)Mÿstiç •- .namaste.
RunningSon aka Jim Aldrich, Joshua Tree CA 2013 | This site is dedicated with the deepest gratitude to Dr. Cláudio Naranjo, whose writings gave me life.
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