Lillian Dianne's Blog (3)

When the sun sets, the creek turns shiny yellow, which I paint. When the moon is in the sky, the creek is shiny white, which I paint. Slithering water keeps going, keeps going. While under the water, the shiny gold rocks live. The water is their blanket. The creek of coldness shakes your hand as it turns blue. Quickly I pull out with cold ripples where I was. The winter chills the quiet creek. That blizzard rushed away the noise. I need the Spring to come. Continue

I wrote this one a while back, so if it sounds weird to you all, I can understand why. How I thirst to be loved. To be held To be full like a river after the snow melts. Or a puddle after the rain. Thirst. My grandmother says blessed are those who thirst after righteousness for they will be filled. Oh, how I want to be full Thirst. Continue

Bring me home by the moonlit path Where pale moon stains the orche earth. Tell me where to go. Away from the place where the yellow laterns glow Where the insects gather for heat in the lonely night. Surround me with trees where stubborn houses refuse to stand. Where the rain breaks delicately against green leaves Take me to the place Where the stars do not hide timidly asahmed of their beauty Where the smells that rise from the earth Guide me, guide me home to the forest Where I can find myself… Continue