Flames lick fake wood never burning— for now. Soon the sun will rise before I do, but not today. Today’s glorious sunrise show is hidden, however, by mists that roll over mountains, meld into Sound, hover over harbor contained in faint trace of land. Come out, Sunshine. Ingest dense moisture cover. Come out, Mountains. Reveal your dimensions, their grand cascade. I know you are there where I should see you from where I’m sitting. * * * Photo by Nick Bolton on Unsplash
Grief is the house left vacant once parents have moved out, moved on to their eternal home without you— for now Grief is the crib left vacant when life anticipated departs before taking breath, or soon after, taking yours with it Grief is the room left vacant when a child declares independence too young, rejecting all faith and family offered for launch Grief is the vacancy a for-sale sign can’t fill * * * I wrote this post for the Five-Minute Friday Link-Up. Click here to read other writers' posts on today's prompt: vacant . Photo by Tierra Mallorca on Unsplash