Spilled Ink
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Forest’s Fading Light
Deep in the forest, void of sight, a fragile branch holds fading light. Its final leaves in amber glow, catch golden whispers drifting low… Continue reading
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Beyond the Cannon’s Breath
In golden light of evening blaze, the old sentry meets our gaze. From cannon’s breath and bitter fray, to Pataskala’s peaceful quiet way. He catches fire in the evening sun, a soldier’s watch that’s never done. Carved in stone for… Continue reading
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Before the Snow
Her path of gold, a sunlit floor, of autumn days that came before. I walk these woods of rust and light, before the winter turns the morning white… Continue reading
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Echoes of Autumn Light
I watch the drifts through frozen glass, and miss her light on autumn grass. In November’s gold, she used to glow, a cool, crisp breath before the snow. Now winter reigns in silent white, while I crave the ghost of… Continue reading
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Embers in the Cold
Slipping low, she pours her fire into the cold, molten orange fading, rich and bold. Clouds catch embers, ash-soft, warm and slow, and winter keeps the secret of her glow… Continue reading
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Ohio’s Edge at Dusk
At dusk the path hugs Ohio’s side, where golden lamps and shadows glide. She drifts along, both dark and deep, with secrets that the currents keep. Through quiet bends and silvered glow, she carries ghosts of long ago; the steamboats… Continue reading
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In the Margins of Morning
She stands still where the air softens, black ink on a page of pale light; her branches trace the quiet shape, to tell a story she hopes to write… Continue reading
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Quiet Flame at Dusk
She leans low, a quiet flame, peeking through trees turned dark and still; light slips between their shadowed frames, soft gold surrendering to evening’s will…. Continue reading











