Frozen Flakes

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“The frosted glass, simply stained by the flakes frozen when the temperature plummeted” Gun Roswell

Frozen Flakes

The artwork made by a winter’s storm onto the glass of the window quite worn

It wasn’t even that cold outside, but those flash frozen flakes, which during the night fell

Were plastered onto the surface, while the snow fall was trying to find purchase

And so, forming the most gorgeous art in the form of the various shapes

Only lasting there for a moment, the while the temperature remains under zero

And so, doing my best, in trying to preserve all of this, fading art before

They all start to melt away

Footfalls, made by Soft Socks

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“There is something about running in just the wool socks on your feet to the outside, the softness of the snow felt against the soles. But the bad thing is, the socks will eventually get wet, so there is that. Boots would have been better.“ Gun Roswell

Footfalls, made by Soft Socks

The freshly fallen snow inviting, there is no fighting agains the lure, of pure white fluff, the flakes falling all over the place, even the face

And when in a hurry, carefree and without a worry, shooting oneself to the outside, to the open wide in a rush, well, forgetting to put on proper wear, the care soon in place

As the woolly socks and the velour frock are hardly the best combo, for an outing around the hood, no matter how good it might have felt taking the first few steps on the fresh of the snow

Because after so many steps, the sleet beneath the soft and fluffy, soon turning into something naughty, the soggy socks, the cold and damp, setting in, shaking and hovering wanting only to go back in

Honestly, put some boots on, while venturing out there into a weather strong, as winter and all that cold snow, otherwise for days you will your nose have to blow

On the rails when it snows

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“The early morning snow storm, caused a chaos on the tracks, but never mind, the trains will still run” Gun Roswell 

On the rails when it snows

The early morning heavy rush hour, the traffic filled with vehicles, stopped on its tracks

Luckily though, it did not stop the trains running on the long rails, as a matter of fact

As the  rail driven vessels never ever halting, not for the weather, rain, snow or fire

Pushing through, pulling the haul of many a cars, dashing through whatever going far

The train, the only working public; or other kind of transport, something the pedestrians now sport

This is the way to go quite fast and oh so very far, even the next city, and that is simply splendid 

The ride rather smooth and gentle, even with the mileage left behind plenty of.

Plotting, planning, always writing

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“There is just something so freeing in writing by the seat of your pants, the flow simply pouring into any tale possible… but the editing of said supposed masterpiece is pure hell!” Gun Roswell

Plotting, planning, always writing

The guidelines for any good writing, apparently are those of careful planning, plot devising and character development, not to mention world building and keeping it in the rigid story structure as taught by the myriad of books out there for novice and even the more advanced writers and those whom are still searching for their, thing?

Sure, but if those same teachers also urge the bard to write what they know? About their lived life, the things around them, the daily grind? Well, then far off are we as life, really has no such structure. Unless you count the birth, living and death as such, a three act structure perhaps?

But then, how can you write that story if you are still living?

Okay, taking things to the very extremes as this author usually tends to do, no matter life, writing or well, plotting the secret world domination…oops, that one was supposed to be a secret? Guess the cat is once again popping out of the bag eh?

But I do digress.

The type of writer, no matter what the books, the tubes, the articles might just suggest are only guilders, recommendations. After all, writing, is an art form along any other similar activity. And whether you prefer to write whatever pops up into your wicked little mind and do not care about plotting, planning and such, then you are as correct to be doing so as those whom simply love to plot and plan and whatnot.

It’s all good, as long, as you keep on, writing.

As there is no right or wrong way, to simply sit down and write.

Behind the shadows, light peeks 

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“The light will always prevail, no matter how dark it may just seem now.” Gun Roswell

Behind the shadows, light peeks 

The darkness descended all over the land, the time of year, someone retorted, but there was nothing better at hand, part from some artificial lights shining the way, even if it was in the middle of the day, as this phenomena was there for a while to stay.

But, there was really nowhere to stray, the path still clear, no matter night or day, the only difference, was the total darkness, having taken a hold of the northern part of the blue globe, aptly named, as Polar Nights, there was no manner of fight, to prevent it them from happening.

Having gotten used to this, seasonal trade, as in turn been given practically nightless nights in the middle of the summer times, for several months on end, only the light would there play, but now as it as late in the year, the seasonal celebration neat, the darkness was the one true constant.

And so, moving forward, day by day, as if slaves to the rhythm, apathy and frowns, taking over the once proud and smiling dwellers, like they were inside of a spell, but knowing this was only temporary, they moved on, out of spite to last over this, prolonged night, as light, would in the end prevail.

Somewhere high up, hanging on the clouds

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“The sky is endless, stretching to the horizon and beyond, going on, forever“ Gun Roswell

Somewhere high up, hanging on the clouds

Seated, on the side of the window

En route to somewhere different that much I know

Hopefully a place nice and slightly warm

Destination?

Still, very much unknown

At least for the duration

But that does not matter, as there is no hesitation

As the journey, is the one interesting

Not the location itself reached less so

It might just be a sandy and sunny beach

Then again

It just might be a slippery snowy slope

Whatever the end location is

Does not matter as long as this 

Bliss of being up here

Amongst the fluffy clouds

Amongst the brightly lit stars

Even the thin line of a horizon

Sun setting and soon again arising

Even the stars above laugh

Can be seen if there is enough

Darkness around the very vessel

Having set its “sails” out of suggestion

Towards the foreign land somewhere ahead

And so, there I sit like the others few

Admiring the many similar views

From the best seat on the craft

Hoping this trip will a while longer last

Because I am loving this, having a total blast

Dreaming of a place somewhere far away

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“It’s funny how we are never happy about where we are at any given moment, always dreaming of some place else, supposedly much better than this one is“ Gun Roswell

Dreaming of a place somewhere far away

There is one constant in the universe, or at least on this very planet, that of the dwellers, namely humans, are never happy about staying in just one single place

Whether they want to travel for a while or perhaps permanently relocate, it seems to be encoded inside of the DNA to want to be a on the move and not in one locale stay

And if stuck in the same ol same ol, what do these, two legged brainy creatures do?
Well, day dreaming all day long, of some other place far far away until they fall, into a deep sleep, most likely having the same dream on repeat

So, whether it is of a vacation soon to follow, or simply some far away distant fantasy, those yet to be undiscovered vistas at least for the one person, keeps them going on

Some kind of season

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“There used to be four seasons, and in between them, a few more, now? Not so anymore.“ Gun Roswell

Some kind of season

The seasons ever changing, is the old adage, some are still using

But in truth, there are few seasons left, even if the almanac would otherwise state

The spring, the summer, the autumn, the winter

Mostly left is the one big ugly grey splinter

The one digging in too deep into each and every life

Making the life as we once knew, a nightmarish strife

Counting the days of beautiful bliss is seemingly easy

Because there aren’t many of those, only ones sleazy

And so, looking out through the foggy window

Comparing the current view to those photos few

Where actually the visual was pleasant, the need to go

Outside for an adventure, just because, wow

Alas, not any more, and that, is a really big bore 

Coffee, Life, What’s the Difference?

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“The sweet elixir of life, whatever it means to each and every person, is different, but Coffee for sure, takes the lead in my book, without any strife!” Gun Roswell

Coffee, Life, What’s the Difference?

Becoming more adult, the tastes from when a child, start to develop to a more, subtle direction, at least, that is the general consensus of things, and not all do agree, as growing up and becoming an adult are two different things, and so, how we muddle through the so called life, well, that too, varies majorly so.

Getting old, means you might want to vary your diet and perhaps start liking certain things you did not before, just like life, right?

Getting even older means, you will stat to love the bitter taste of coffee without any qualms, black no sugar, no cream and definitely no milk, no questions asked, except for the one always hanging in the air when the liquid from the cup starts to disappear – one more, please!

It is totally reminiscent of life in this writers mind, as the more stale it gets as it sticks to the bottom of the pot, having been left for far too long, on the very warming plate, and so the more bitter the stuff tastes… and then what happens?

Well, the more you go back to get, well, even more of the same old shit!

And you totally see it now don’t you, the premise of this very tale, right?

As Coffee, Life, there really is no difference!

Wintery View

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“The nightly view from the window, with the reflected hues of the lights, shining through the darkness, against the snow and star lit skies“ Gun Roswell

Wintery View

The night upon, no sleep for the weary, so what to do while trying to stay strong? 

Perhaps take a peek through the closed curtains, maybe there is something new?

Gasp! Sigh. What the F..ye?

Does my own eyes lie?

All that snow!

Oh boy, and a loud Doh!

Too much, of anything, good or bad is not really a thing of which a song would be proper of to sing.

Even with the holiday season approaching fast, this, this thing, the white fluffy stuff…

It’s way too much!
At least at this time of year, and I fear, it will stay there for a moment too long.

And then, the spring months are upon and still, the snow and cold there remain.

Like the naughty and dirty large stain.

And whom of this all can we blame?

Ourselves I guess, for causing this overall change.