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For The Sunday Muse Prompt #179: ** The scent of life and of living hangs heavy on this place, Here, where the weight of memory and first things lose themselves in the labyrinth of the mind. First step, first walk, first smile. First words - garbled beyond recognition but finding the connection between the proffered body and sustenance. First leaving, first returning then leaving - the first steps of a lonesome journey to a far country, of seeking the wily welcome of the open world calling - siren-like - from beyond the walls that time has built. ...

For The Sunday Muse Prompt #84. Image Source. \\\* Behind the grime, and the ravages of time the remains of living now lie, each layer of dirt a sigh, a dirge for the mystery of abandonment, for how easy it is for things once woven into the fabric of the present to slip beneath the shroud of the memories we lose. Maybe this is what leaving is, things returning to the way they always were.

Snowed in, somewhat. For the Day 2 prompt. I ache in the winter when it rains. When the wind, like the fingers of a malevolent one probe beneath. Deep down in a place sometimes lost where memories once lived, lies the linger of disquiet.For forgetting. Some days the smell of fresh wood wafts in, borne as though on wings of the wind. Then, these bones - aching in the cold - rejoice.