My favorite cliches

A patient campfire under a black blanket strewn with diamonds;
The forest sentinels listening anxiously to a frolicking breeze;
Shattered glass bobbing atop a lake hidden in the folds of a mountain;
Waves straining futilely toward a liquid yellow sun floating;
Stoic mountain fingers bookmarking the outskirts of the past;
A layer of silence just above the breathing of a heavy snowfall;
The frozen crunch of snow hardened by a wintry sun blazing white;
The heavy push of blankets blocking out a winter chill;
Howling purple wind dancing swiftly across a desert valley floor;
Goose-prickles on a grazing day after hours soaking in the river;
A chorusing cricketsong in one of summer’s orange dusks;
An afternoon rain’s feathery incense inescapable on the way home;
Swinging howls of midnight gusts winding through the city;
The view from a mid-morning stroll on the other side of the street
as the same cicadas scream their loneliness across Doppler’s ears;
Burnt ceiling skin from cooking too hot to eat, too tempting to resist,
And the unplaceable memory imbued within the flavor;
A loved one’s hands diving deep into swimming winter pockets;
Favorite lines from a movie you can’t stop quoting after leaving the theater;
Newly favorited songs repeating pleasantly to background the day;
A novel whose first page is always more enticing than the last;
Warm brushstrokes of skin in the darkest hour of night;
The sickly impatience and anticipation of becoming your father
so that you might know all these things and endless more.



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