(Photo taken by me)
The grass is always at its greenest, beneath the shadow of a tree in summertime. Blades that aren’t protected beneath the canopy are stricken and bleached by the humid rays of July.
Branches halt the downpouring heavens and say, “you don’t get to have this, not these ones. We want them hidden so that when a passerby takes notice, your presence becomes more palpable.
~Excerpt from The Dioramist
Looking for new reads?
Poetry about Strange Cars or maybe a fictional novel journal about a Dioramist protagonist who struggles with a passion for writing and a former love? Be sure to check out my published wares on Amazon if you’re interested.
Also, be sure to find me on Instagram @ blankpagesofmine and say hello!