Twiglet #277

Posted on by Misky
the wind rattles

A twiglet’s aim is to “prompt” a thought. If something comes to mind, write. A polished piece isn’t the goal; creativity is. Leave a link, if you’d like your work read, but comments should not be expected.

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30 thoughts on “Twiglet #277”

  2. yes i know
    it’s not the rattle of the wind
    you’re going to huff and puff
    till you blow the house down
    fat chance
    i know how that story ends

    Liked by 4 people

  5. Rattlewind

    The wind rattles a dented trash can down
    the road. It runs along the vinyl north side
    of the house on beaded leather moccasins.
    The wind

    makes porch swings swing, makes sinnermen hide,
    makes the very water fear drowning,
    makes dem bones quake in their cups dead and dried.

    Who will gainsay the wind? Who will frown
    righteously and yell into its yellow teeth: Hie
    ye hither mighty blowhard! Who will astound
    the wind?

    Liked by 4 people

  17. The Wind Rattles…

    the welcome sign at the front door
    as though it wants in
    but this wind, harsh and cold, like death,
    is not welcome, not yet anyway, someday,
    I can imagine
    if I am in unbearable pain,
    or perhaps the last living of family,
    like my grandmother who outlived
    everyone except one daughter,
    maybe then death will be welcomed in
    past the welcome sign
    and into my lonely life.
    like the wind that rattles…

    Liked by 1 person

      1. This time because my computer messed up and I loss a bunch of stuff and when HP redownloaded everything I can’t get back to my admin page. I log in as visitor. Trying to figure it all out.

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    2. What you describe is exactly where my 95-year old aunt is right now. She told me the other day that she’s had enough (heart failure is the issue), and she just wants to die so she can be with my mother (they were good buddies). Gosh, it can sure tear at ones heart to hear her say that, but I do understand.

      Liked by 1 person

    3. Debi –
      That kind of wind blows when it wants. Seeping in the cracks of our memories, reminding us of those, lost. Whose voices are but brief wistpers in that rattling wind.

      Liked by 1 person

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