Bison Hill – Jimmi Campkin

With thanks to Kristi at Free Verse Revolution

FREE VERSE REVOLUTION

June is the worst month.  None of the fresh optimism of spring, the frenetic blustery energy of July or the languidly horizontal effortlessness of heavy, lazy August.  June doesn’t smell… unlike moist Autumn with her crispy leaves decaying under our feet, the clingy humid soil covering our skin like an overly affectionate friend.  June is no Winter, totemic in its association with death; the stillness of an unbroken snowy field and the still finality of a cold coffin lying in state inside a freezing church…

…and yet, even as I think these things I realise that I can hear my heartbeat.  I can hear words as well.  My voice, slowly fading in, saying these things out loud, as she stares at me with her head cocked onto one shoulder.  I look up and meet her patient eyes and we have a moment of utter, ringing silence.  She asks me are…

View original post 621 more words

Author: jimmicampkin

Writer and photographer (and occasional other things) currently living in the North East of England. Everything is my own unless otherwise stated. So blame me.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s