The Grey Tide

The rain is an omen, falling in pebble sharp raps. A temperate wanderer meets a winter bare sleeper. Lips part and ruptured clay spews forth a breath held warm and secret in the throat of the dreamer. Twilight over flows its banks and bleeds into the day. Stranded in the flood the black trees are stick bare and naked, caught in the murky half light. Upright and stiff they fight the rising current, hands outspread, reaching to a sky already lost under the onslaught. Choking in the cloudy ocean, overcome at last, they sink below the waves their accusing eyes lost in the greasy tide. Awash in still waters the world expands into solitude.  

9 thoughts on “The Grey Tide

  1. Lorna, how do you do it?  When I read your writing, I am together at once inspired and humbled.  I am fallen.  But from the base heights of this humility I have an entirely new and beautiful vista on life and the world.  Thank you.


    Wow! Simon wrote a comment as lovely as your entry. I\’m a little embarrassed, because here are my lowly, simple-girl thoughts:
    We had that sharp, pebbly rain last night, too: to the tune of eight new inches of snow on top of an inch or so of ice. There is no school anywhere around us, stores are closed, and the interstate is officially "nearly impassable."
    In a word: YIPPEE! Snow day! (Which in my sad little world, is pretty much exactly like every other day…)
    Anyway. Lovely, as usual.


  3. how could i have not been here in so long?  i have missed so much!!  if i had the time i would sit here for the rest of the night until i savored every word and fell asleep content on my keyboard (and who hasnt done that at least once? OH COME ON)  i am so sorry i missed out on all these wonderful writings (or typings as it were) and i will come back VERY SOON to read them all!
    as usual, i loved it..
    hope you are taking care!


  4. @Simon
    I have an eternity of days to spend alone with ghosts both familiar and mysterious. The foggy morning is an ocean tide lapping at my door, drowning the poor trees while their silent pleas go unanswered. It is beautiful in a macabre sort of way. I don\’t really do anything but watch the world around me.
    It\’s March break here so a good snow day would go to waste. We\’re currently riding a tidal wave of weather from balmy to down right frigid. The fog is incredible, lasting well into the day. Our house is an island floating in a cloud. The barn and the fields seem to have disappeared. If I didn\’t hear the sheep next door or the donkey down the way I\’d think we had fallen off the edge of the world. Simon is absolutely lovely by the way. He has such a beautiful heart and  it is matched by a sharp wit and tempered by humility and humour. He does make a girl\’s heart go a flutter. 😉
    Mmmm potpourri ;P
    A ton of money would be nice but then again I\’d probably go a little "Howard Hughes" and start wearing Kleenex boxes on my feet and hiding from the world…so maybe not… lol
    It did seem like water, thick and solid. When I was in New Orleans several years ago we took a swamp tour and I remember that the water under the boat and the air seemed to be hiding something in the shadowed half light… like that…murky. It had a strange appeal, like the  blade of a sharp knife or the flame of a candle, like the call and answer of a muddy water blues in the washes of that thick viscous fog.
    Hey Jules, it\’s good to "see" you again. I hope all is well with you and the Bear. Stop by anytime! =) 


  5. Hey,
    I\’m sorry I havent checked out your site in a while, ive been busy. Sorries. But, its great to see that nothing has changed your writing is amazing as always. Your so creative, please tell me that your a famous writer??.
    Take Care


  6. @Amanda
    Amanda! How are you? and how goes things in the fabulous clothing retail world? JK It\’s good to see you again…I think I\’ll stop by your space for a visit. I haven\’t been in ages! =) 


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