a short story, descriptive imagery
i picture an old cabin out west,
maybe alongside a slow moving stream.
the air, almost winter crisp, late fall.
the wind, brushing up against a tarnished beard.
maybe while, sipping on the ritual handy craft whiskey.
just one of you though, staring at the night sky on the patio.
the sun, just under the mountains ahead, a dark dusk only to be seen.
the short cup clattering with the slow wind, but it feels warm..
warm enough though to sit down and grab the guitar to the left.
something's different about this night, as he pondered everything about his past.
he noticed the sky, and thought there just might be something
bigger and better out there then his problems.
as he strummed two slow chords, one tear started from his left eye.
he got back up and said "that's enough" and headed for bed.