The Sound of Ink

  In the cavern of whispers where sea and sand roam waves write love notes on abalone, and wait for dreamers wooed by the music of poetry to surrender to its seduction. ©Susie Clevenger 2021

  There’s something about wings that makes me wish I had them.   Defying gravity to feel the sky without having to carry passengers complaining about the view is a bit of magic I’d like to own.   Oh, the pleasure of being a bird to drop an exclamation point on a gossipy neighbor who muddies the Zen of a sunny Tuesday would be a mulberry mission of delight.   If a wish was a feather, I’d wish to be a robin. I could arrive to announce winter has been shown the door and gray landscape must surrender to the reign of wildflowers.   Wait! Perhaps I should wish to be a crow, silence my introvert, join a flock, be inquisitive, problem solve with a wink of mischievous, write my opinions in feather quills and inky throat.   Yes, there’s something, endless somethings about wings that has me yearning to not feel the weight of finding my way through the hypercritical maze of selfish humans.       ©Susie Clevenger 2021