July.
Bright chop at Blackness. A splash of sudden sun. A season we’ve almost forgotten the name for. Voices clatter across the water. Clouds clutter the far corners. Buzzards circle. And sometimes an osprey. The tide turns. The wind against us. Night rows toward shifting shadows. Blister on oar hand. Surrender feels right.
From J.R. Carpenter’s This is a Picture of Wind (Longbarrow Press, 2020).
Longbarrow Press 