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A Quicksilver Saturday

reading time: less than a minute

Written By: Travis Knight

Photography By: Camila Pereira

 

Satin fog flips like a coin,

clouds blushing quicksilver hues.

It comes in crackling currents,

those that trickle down a mountain’s scalp,

panting calm, coastal sighs all the while,

until refuge is found on the four walls,

the four walls of a nearby, toxic temple.

 

Winding, windy drives

–driving, driving, driving–

grasping to get a glimpse.

We hope to touch the sky

before it is completely gobbled by gold,

that instant when all that remains,

is loitering, Great Pacific remnants.

Knight Writes | A Quicksilver Saturday / Poetry By Travis Knight

Autumn rivers traverse terrain,

receding canopies overhead,

Warm Yellows, Casual Browns,

and Northern Greens,

lazily slinking down invisible rungs,

until they rest to be swept away

by a storm-born serpent.

 

A slender sea lion barks,

desperately spiraling upward,

hopeful to get a mouthful of tomorrow,

for today, lunch has been hidden in the past.

Nevertheless, one can spot the elusiveness

of time’s before as it precariously peaks

out from a shadowed grove.

 

A little nugget of Space

suddenly sinks in the Great Reef of Time.

Never lost, but frozen;

a seedling waiting to ascend,

to break free and live again,

existing to emerge,

on another Quicksilver Saturday.

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