Contemplative Poetry
1 min
Abandoned House in the Tatra Mountains
Linda Nemec Foster
Only the foundation is left. Roof, floors, ceilings, walls—all gone. Only the sky remains and the chaotic chorus of wildflowers: dark chicory, red poppies, the slash of willow gentian, chamomiles, blue cornflowers, dog roses, wild angelica in clusters of near white, yarrow crowded into bursts of light purple. They all shout, all at once, from the exposed cellar—as if to sing for no one but each other. Can you hear them? Understand their singular language that will haunt your next dream?
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