Charlotte

I capture weather, nature, and the roads that keep calling.

Horror films, long trips, and music from the 80s to now.

A single strike splitting the horizon open.

Tiny sparks floating like memories in the night.

Winter drapes the forest in quiet symmetry, every step softened by snow.

I stand where the storm feels closest to the bone.

Upon the feeder’s wooden rim he stands,

A tiny spark of sunrise on his breast;

Red‑bright, he warms the garden’s gentle lands,

Red stairs 🐞🍓🎒

Waves beneath a restless sky.

Rain drifts through the landscape like a slow-moving veil.

Even the fallen things keep their stories.

Nature always finds a way to steal the scene.

caught between what fades and what begins