Bare limbs spread out like skeleton ribbing. Draped in a tattered shroud of Spanish moss, it is scant protection from the biting rain and brutal wind.
Ancient oaks open as an umbrella over my head. A canopy of wasted dreams flutter and snap, a daunting cacophony of regret and guilt.
Do I shutter that hiding place, turn my face full toward the unforgiving sun? I must take my chances in this Technicolor landscape, stepping out of my comfort zone to risk everything for that moment of clarity.
Black and white living
In a psychedelic world
Step out of the pall