Me, Emerson and Mom at Old Faithful geyser, Dad behind the camera.
Dear Dad,
Can you hear my thoughts like a tin can echo long pause electronic black pixels against the white ghost horse wild like wind clung tight to my drapes as they breathe in and out of the windows of that house in the eye of a storm that won’t pass still waiting to break like the clouds and the smell of earth after a long hard rain in the spring I see branches bud and your voice carries and transmits over lines in my head I can’t always rely on time that I could but just one day you never came back for a while testing to see if it was still home still stands crooked like my smile and I glimpse so surprised at myself and I echo like a tin can the likeness of you and your crooked smile and the storm that hasn’t yet come to pass.
Love,
Anna
ClutterHeart 
Very stream of consciousness. I really flowed with your words and images. Great work!
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Thanks Craig. THAT’S what that’s called, “stream of consciousness”? I couldn’t do anything all day yesterday. I felt very unmotivated and depressed. I sat down with a pen and paper and this spilled out of me. It was crazy! But after I got it out, I could actually get some work done and I felt much less depressed. It was like this sentence was just waiting for me to attend to it, and was blocking my every attempt to ignore it. It was a very interesting experience to say the least. I’m glad someone understood too! Thanks.
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