Marian H. Rowe's Blog

rain… the kind that winked at you with its fine eyelashes that you felt all over your face.

rain… that made you eighteen again and able to fall morbidly in love with someone who only thought about you when it was very necessary.

rain… that pulled the clouds down low over the rooftops and veiled the trees’ faces and threw a purifying gray shadow over the form of every stranger.

rain… that sat alongside as you promised your Father you would make this work because it was what your fath...

Any moment now, I will fall asleep.

The ground intrudes onward with parched leaves and muggy soil. Bits of it bleed into my ankles as I tread sorely and tediously downhill in the tropical arboretum. It is as big as a forest. There is no one in earshot. The sky, a little hazy, cannot bleach the splattered stain of the treetops. It is a new sight for old eyes, leaving my mountain vision tired and discontent. Green, green—and the color of rejection. Light smudges the outer edges of everythin...

The hills of Phyrwold are empty places. They are always empty, of life wild or domesticated to subservience, or of death pervasive in decaying roots and bleeding rivers – emptiness instead holds her pale, pliant hands around the sky, a terrarium of silent fog and silenter rain to paint the trees in silver. Empty roads carve straight lines through deserted wheat fields and barbarous fences; an empty hamlet lies in the valley of a long-dried tarn, where not even ice will fi...

Thanks for visiting my website! I will be sharing stories & poems here, very soon.