The tingling sensation on my skin. The deep muscle ache in my upper arms and thighs. The creak in my back. The throb in my left forefoot. The tenitis hum in my ears.
But I smell the aroma of air-fried, sweet-potato fries. I hear Mira’s humming in the kitchen. I see the twilight sky turn dark, and the halfmoon shine through the center window in the sun room. These aching fingers still type.
& I deconstruct the storyteller attempting to regale me, yet again, with tales of my imminent ruin.
autumn night
the faint chirping
of crickets
out of this awareness
a new strength
for dverse OLN #371, pubtended by Sanaa. The Pub is open! Come join us!
Frank J. Tassone 
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