Monday, December 7, 2009
The Bog
Below me, the endless soggy marsh spills out in all directions. The surface of this bubbling ooze is filmy due to exaggerated periods of graveyard stillness, but sometimes bulbous toads disturb the rancid water, and unseen slithering things glide silently behind them. Above me, Spanish moss hangs thick like filthy beards, drooping from the elongated branches of arboreal aberrations which conspire here under the dim gibbous moon.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
this is lovely. :)
ReplyDeleteyou write so well, i'm envious of such imagination.. i've lost mine, as a kind of warped "reality" took over. although, it's not very real.. it's much in my head. anyway, i hope you don't mind me following your blog. i want to read the little story you have further down the page, but i'll have to wait for a day where i'm blessed with slightly more concentration.
~becca.