Stuck
.
.
late at night
past the flickering city lights
the warmth of summer at the solstice
mixes gently
with the chill
that settles in the low spots
where crickets keep their beat
a time signature set by heat
or possibly the lack thereof
sleep swoops in slyly
crescent moon
hangs there dryly
where nothing ever happens
life is stuck in possibility
awaiting aimlessly
for the next wave coming
just in case
it eventually does
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Relative Something 
John, You have a way with words.
Julie Kuberski
June 22, 2015 at 7:13 am
Thanks, Julie! At times, it feels a lot like balancing stones for me.
johnwhays
June 22, 2015 at 7:19 am
You are good at balancing stones. Remember that our relationships (to people, animals and nature) help to sturdy our perceived wavering stones.
Julie Kuberski
June 23, 2015 at 11:08 pm