When I am very old, I will remember this.
The day the summer rolled across the valley in a golden ball
Scratching heat soaked fingers in painful lines up my back
The ocher grit of the desert tangling in the air and getting trapped in my lip gloss.
The curved spines of the cactus puncturing the university sky
And the memory of rain in every breath
a/n: I don’t even know really. Just some thoughts I had going to my photo shoot this morning. Don’t know if I will have time to hop on tomorrow because I will be editing the photos from today’s shoot and (please God!) finishing the last scene of The Siren’s Lament. This is the hardest story I ever had to write and I don’t know if it is because I so want it to live up to it’s full potential or if I am just a crazy neurotic writer who is getting worse with age. In the meantime, here is some encouragement if you need it as much as I do: