Ice Storm

A friend’s betrayal. The first crack in the heart. A child’s heart. Swallowing a sob, a gurgle hard against the throat. A nudiustertian heartbeat ago. The storm settles.


That friendship went the way of trains into the sunset, trains with Hercules propellers in a steampunk show, and a suddenly shrunken figure, lean with knowing, stiffening its back against the world.

The heart armored, now slow to trust, still easily betrayed, always anticipates the moment of departure, inexorable in its movement like the ticking of a clock, yet attuned to distant trumpets ushering in the dawn.

Frost-browned blooms
Knew caskets of ice
Await life.

After the Storm (for Cee’s FOTD)

Cee's FOTD, Di's #TTC ("knew,lean,show")
Linda's #JusJoJan ("gurgle"), Sadje's #WWDYS
Melanie's #WOTD ("nudiustertian"), dVerse Haibun
Michelle's Jan. 5th prompt: "Hercules propellers"
Train tracks image credit; Rodrigo Curi @ Unsplash

Author: Dora

The unearned splendor of being means we can always meet on a common plane of gratitude, aiming in conversation, art, or writing towards “something understood.”

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