Fawn’s Nightingale

Ellen Rogers Photography


Fawn’s Nightingale
100 Words

Each new dawn brings forth beauty’s naïve doe-eyed uncertainty, with slightly parted lips, shallow breath exhales to the clock’s tick. Her moon does its duty, arching across the sky, far behind the good sun. Frustration follows temptation towards the cobblestones of twilight, before reaching the pause of midnight. There’s a certain ripeness and longing contained within the dark, where anything and everything is possible. While all is lulled by sleep’s stagnation, beauty’s uncertainty grows restless. No longer a keepsake, she envisions the once unattainable in the distance, across a field of thorns, her brave heart dares to barefoot the crossing.


“I’m lost. And it’s my own fault. It’s about time I figured out that I can’t ask people to keep me found.”
― Anne Sexton

Groove Armada – “
Think Twice



In The Mourning

Photographer Sally Mann


In The Mourning
100 Words Only

Death did its part, shock and denial offered their condolences: time, it passes too. Beneath a star-spangled ceiling, counting beliefs and misfortunes as sheep, waiting for sleep to take hold, my mind flashes neon forget-me-nots, signs of Elvis and vows taken. Taken they were, in all but a moment, time enough to empty the chamber. The chips, they did fall — sound with the jingle-jangle of spent shell casings. Remnants of carnations linger sickening-sweet, like cotton candy on sticky fingers in the summer’s heat. Memory’s ghost hugs my curves like a fitted sheet, a second skin, while whispering soft-nothings: promises unkept.


“If two people love each other there can be no happy end to it.”
― Ernest Hemingway

Tango With Lions – “
In a Bar

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