Scribbles and Bits

There is no Summer in the Golden State, just heat and fire with no ending date. In April begins the temperature climb until nature wins once it hits June-time. Constantly weary for four months on end, sun-tanned and sweaty 'til Fall makes amend with fresh soothing rain quenching ground again

New amber pours out into a readied pint glass, piquing my curiosity: "What does it taste like?" The cask-fresh concoction is passed my way. "It tastes like time-travel" But I do not understand until golden brew touches parched lips and I'm transported to younger days surrounded by the laughter of joyful men toasting to new life, the excitement of first-born fading as I swallow and my taste buds dry. Warmth flows down my limbs hitting empty stomach, igniting the butterflies of a first kiss, expanding until my body glows warm like the spring day of our first meeting. I open my eyes to empty glass and ask for another trip.

My soul is poisoned like tule fog rolling into the valley, flowing from the emptied slough and swallowing us whole. A bright swift cloud low and rolling like the bobcats that roam the foothills looking for smaller prey. The cold endless grey unyielding pressing against every space until the world disappears and you are abandoned within. It's easy to lose yourself in the fog.

Nothing says "get back on the horse that threw you" like signing up for a poetry class. And in the spirit of accountability and self-humiliation, I thought...why not share? Each week, our class gets a theme or challenge relating to that week's lesson. We'll also have two additional works due during the class that are open to class critique. So with little fanfare... let's begin!