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I am UmberDove.

And by that, I mean an artist.  One who hears stories in the wind, who paints because it is what her soul tells her to do, who smiths because the muse moves through her fingertips, who loves nothing more than the promise of an unexplored trail, the sound of the ocean in her ears, and scent of a serious cup of coffee.

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Of Roses and Rosé

UmberDove











Sixty-seven degrees of sunshine beat down on a single straw hat
The rosé threw rainbows, dangling from five long fingers
The breeze, tired of tossing nothing but silly leaves, entertained itself with the hem of my skirt
And I looked both ways before hopping the fence

Nature will always take back what was rightfully hers
And these stairs are no exception
Ten feet up and the sweetness permeates the air
Twenty feet up and the headiness plays tricks
Thirty feet up and the roses arch their eyebrows
Staring bold-faced
Sizing me up

Like Alice down the rabbit hole, I curtsied, clumsily
Saying "How do you do?"
In clear unison they replied "Charmed I'm sure"
And I knew we understood each other
At least for today
Although tomorrow may be another story
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categories "poetry"