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Day 15. Half way through, how many of us are still going? Part of the problem is getting out to see other writers who are doing the same thing, while trying to do more writing myself. This is the latest time I’ve posted this month, I’m having a blackout, even the prompts on the web are not helping. It may all come crashing down this week, who else is finding it difficult? Another short poem, more of a note to myself, an image I like from our local park.

Two old trees in the park.

Each summer we walk into the pool of chilled air
beneath them to look through the leaves at the shaded blue
of the sky. Limbs moved by the salted seaside breeze
and stretching so far they hide us from the world,
we could stay a while and wait for the them to grow.