He’s walking along the sidewalk -headed up the hill- carrying his backpack on both shoulders. His springy hair, like the willow tree across the street, hangs over his face. His face hangs over his phone.
Headed up the hill (Springing hair)
He’s walking along the sidewalk -headed up the hill- carrying his backpack on both shoulders. His springy hair, like the willow tree across the street, hangs over his face. His face hangs over his phone.
Lucidly deep..
Thank you, though I just put down the things I see and experience the translations of the images is up to the reader! Makes me happy that it struck you.
Hmm.. Maybe that’s the secret of the beauty in your posts.. You write about your viewpoint and observations but leave the meaning to be conveyed dependent on the reader leading to every kind of reader being satisfied in their own way.. Interesting..
Again, thank you for your kind words. That’s the goal and the beauty of it, though there’s always traces of the self left behind. Where would our poems be without the willing and able reader, like yourself?
And one like you too! 🙂