Old, New

Shannon dreamed, created, inspired, then died.
Her death drew fans who understood.
"I loved you," cries the headstone.


Haiku?

This doodle bug makes
way. Something lay before her.
"Ah," says she. "Soft moss."

The little light spider
scurries down concrete rock cliffs,
drips down its slick web.

Crowded in the car,
1 to 6, five short hours,
I'm gettin' a bed!


Scenes:

Two cats, perched like birds on a wire, watch the rain drip off the eaves and cars pass.

The river rushes down below, melted snow flowing fast over rocks and stone. The water, crisp, slow, erodes as it melts from the peaks of these mountains and trickles. I sit with ease and watch the pines sway. The wind elopes. It passes like a flock of birds, and leaves me at my perch.

Matt and Ryan greet me from the top, specks on a rock the size of a mountain. And a jumbo jet leaves a white streak as it passes discrete behind them. And they, those two, sway like the trees. And rocket strength winds whirl by me, through me.

12 March, maybe

If today's 12, 11 I got to Amy's after dinner with Dad; after finishing everything at the lake. On 10 I got to the lake after leaving Mom's; after doing some chores for her; after pancakes at Granny's; after waking up there. I slept there to keep her company, comfortable. I slept there on 9 after dinner with Granny, Mom, and Emily; after getting groceries at HEB; after Emily went to practice; after she and I had lunch and hung out; after she and I had breakfast and talked the morning away; after I woke her, calling her from outside the house after the drive from Austin that began that morning around 4; after hanging out with Chris on 8, the same day I packed my car and left after I decided it was time to get going; after I returned from San Antonio after an incredible weekend that started the day before, 7.