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Filed by Fletcher Moody — Literary Correspondent You could hear the farm before you could see it. I had driven out from Milledgeville in the middle of a Georgia afternoon, in the kind of heat that gets into the upholstery, and a half mile short of the place a sound came across the fields that I took at first for a woman calling from a long way off. It came again. It was not a woman. By the time the house showed itself, white and low behind a...

Finished reading ‘Land’. Beautiful story-telling, but not one to read if in any way depressed, other than the fact that you could console yourself that at least you don’t have to live a life like that. Also finished ‘Travel Light’ by Naomi Mitchison, which will have to re-read as was either too distracted to get it or fell asleep and forgot key details of the story. Bought it as she lived on the Mull of Kintyre where my father was from. He used...

Saturday was a raggedy day. A rehearsal for things to come. The winds were up. The rain misting between Haar and spritz that faded before hitting the ground. Late summer trees, in their no-nonsense, deep, dark greens, caught on, winking their pale leaf undersides, “We’re in”. On the hills opposite, are several slopes which are farmed, their colours affirming the seasons. The deep port purple of winter furrows, the lime green stubble of spring,...

Drone Warfare Bring an end to winter. To these lethal strikes. Drones and bombing foggy days over Kyiv. The bombs are still being heard around the clock, Non-stop. Shadow on the radar. Haunting symbols, leaving lingering trauma and invisible wounds. So (Sow) maty (Mother) zhyto (Rey). Their weeping mothers. “I’m sorry for your loss”. For your loss, it has come at a devastating cost. There is still a blue road. Fire won't destroy everything. The...

“The Ten-Year Drift” Ten years buried, Like a cabin under frozen snow. Surface: A sudden knock at the door. A return of ten years. Suspension of consciousness I am relieved. Twist of fate; An icy chill on a white blanket slate, fresh skin; a new life. As the sound of snow sonic, pillows over the cabin. There sits our picture. Fades to old blue. Once a shared shadow. Becomes an instant replay. We sat looking out of the window Sharing an age-old...

What if I just let go? An Architect of Ruins: built upon an unpredictable, Sandstorm. With full knowledge of its consequences. The contractor's role in assisting with the outcome. Was the price to pay for the tools used to construct the anchor that is already sinking? This is the familiar toxicity of a well-known friend. While displaying their fully furnished turnkey. Craving stability, but chose the sandstorm. Like cutting off body parts, then...

Happiness vs Joy Ps 30:5 For His anger is but for a moment, but His favor is for A lifetime, or in His favor, is life. Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning. 2 Cor 4:17 For our light, momentary affliction (this slight distress of passing hour) is ever more and more abundantly preparing and producing and achieving for us everlasting weight of glory (beyond all measure, excessively surpassing all comparisons and all...

Memories of Darkness A judgment of the past: where we’ve locked our dark halves. Between grief and grace. The choice we made along the way. Yet fixated on latent fears of losing face. These thoughts weigh heavily, lounging with those inner chat voices. No one hears me, even if they are standing in proximity. It was the day the sun refused to shine, under a pale moonlight. Playing broken mind games: in an apocalyptic futurist survival mood...

What if it doesn’t matter? Still, we move slightly forward. On what seems to be a floating icebound. Lock and key; almost there. Close to you. But what have we become? Nothing more than a ghost loop. All these thoughts. That shapes our days; they are only words that wither away. Broken hearts, sounds of murmuring regrets. With empty pockets, asking what it was all for? It's cold now, somehow we knew. Those missing links behind the pain, no...

One after Another They came for your head. Aching, filled with dread. Without hesitation, terror; Breed, anticipation. Their eyes were burning. Cloaked in disobedience. In a source ritual. I can’t explain the sorts. Burden with disillusionment. Drunk in confusion. Tipping and double-dipping, In nightmares. Whose reality has come chasing? For what they didn’t ask for. Now that the past is knocking On your back door. Wild and braggadocious. From...