Hello world.
Out of social media darkness I step, into another kind of bright, white light. Will it be the same as this quiet world so many crave, the one where I live tapping these backlit keys with only the sounds of frogs chirruping and a fire lapping at cast iron and clay close by. Will the noise of thoughts in the ether be louder than the sound of silence, of dots of air bumping into each other, of my own heart beat keeping time with the immutable rhythms of life in a forest where tumbledown gums claw and leap at the universe, and mosses, oblivious to change cling to the certainty of old granite.
Here I sit on a peeling leather couch in an isolation of circumstances, in a stone house built from where it stands, wondering why in all the chatter and yammer of this digitized world of ours, I live in so much silence.
Well kind folks let me be another voice among you all, a quiet one, almost a whisper, and if it changes nothing, I was here.
Here goes…
Poetry, short stories, tales of pragmatism and courage, of fear and longing, of love, of children lost, of life in the slowest lane of all – these are the red leaves of the hanna tree.
redleaves 