Some days I wonder. As happy as the thin layer of ash that resonates near a fire, the mangled feathers flicker as the wind halts the direction of the arrow to an end. The ghosts crawl and creep but never showing themselves, imitating a fear. Disappearance an act of terror for the thin layer of happiness washes away with the overshadowing of what could be to what is real.
—Benjamin Mollenhour
This article appears in Mar 31 – Apr 6, 2016.
Magnificent wordsmithing, Mr. Mollenhour. Thank you.