To the core by Guy Yasko

Crumbs of sand fall into the footprint. The wind pushes streams of sun
dried grains through its crenels. She can still read it as her
own. Tomorrow it will be only ‘footprint’. No matter. There will be
today’s prints and the next days.

She turns to the empty sea to absorb the sun, then walks along water’s
edge, past dunes, over bleached trees.

At the black rocks she finds an apple core, white in the sea water. A
crow cries from the forest.

.

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2 Comments

Filed under Guy Yasko

2 responses to “To the core by Guy Yasko

  1. Pingback: Week #43 – To the core | 52|250 A Year of Flash

  2. Dawn Armstrong

    Not sure if you meant this but I get a lot of loneliness and death symbolism from this. Vanishing footprints, bleached trees, the apple core. The discarded core – the center of the once living thing. It grows from the core and dies from the core. The beginning and the end together. I like how it all ties in.

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