My Writings Photography
Patricia Komar

So the Geminid meteor shower is passing. I saw one fireball then a blanket of cloud and fog obscured the showers from above. So until another year I’ll wait with a longing to feel  the deep freeze with my head up and eyes cast to the heavens.

For now I’ll go for a forest shower.

I’ll stand quiet and still and I’ll listen to the forest.

To the sounds of century-old trees as they wave their boughs in a dance only they can dance with their flamenco like skirts ruffling in the wind. I’ll listen to the creeks as they rush to the ponds to the rivers to the sea.

And I’ll shiver as a breeze skates across my arms in pursuit of a nearby cluster of ferns teasing delicate tendrils until they shimmer with delight.

An owl may hoot, A crow may caw, a squirrel may scuttle as eagles whistle high pitches from  the skies.

Then silence will sit beside me, witch’s beard will dangle around me as I settle on an old fallen log with my feet resting on a carpet of moist emerald green moss in the hollow of the forest.

Listening to the silence.

The shower of the forest.



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