Alyn Carlson

I found quiet in the shade of a drift wood root. The shoreline easing toward, back these days, I'm never really sure what it means to relax. To settle. Is this what obtaining a library card feels like? Grit, sand in the crook of my toes? In one place long enough to show it. Spotted rocks more revealing than tired eyes. Where did all this stuff come from anyway? Do you ever think of something and not have time to write it down? I cannot tell the difference between a bald eagle and a plane other than by sound. 


[Image: Alyn Carlson]