Shape of Summer

Grass, heat and thirst

sun the shade of old coins


shape without shadow



About wrensong

I am a poet who collects stones. I am a wanderer of creek beds and forests, canyons and high desert who, coming home, sometimes finds words to tell the story. I am a companion with others in the search for Deep, Wild Soul. I shape containers in time and space for others to come together to write, to tell their stories, to hold each other in the telling. I am a grandmother and the companion of a cat named Alaya. I often travel out into open country with a man who calls himself Dunewalker who has hung his hammock in my heart.
This entry was posted in A River of Stones, aros, Nature, Poetry, Small Stones, summer, The River and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Shape of Summer

  1. John Stevens says:

    Coming back to this, I see now what you are getting at. I’m afraid I misread ‘shade’ and thought of shadow but of course it is colour: and “sun the shade of old coins” really conveys that unrelenting blaze. Straight overhead too, so “shape without shadow”. Short. To the point. There’s no energy to say more, is there?

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