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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.



Chocolate frosting under my nails
Wet sand stuck to my toes
One feather worn behind my ear
Unruly hair tossed in the breeze

The sun and I played hooky today
Leaving November to finish our chores

I read poetry to him 
While he stretched out across the sand
Stories of benevolent gods, aging bikers,
the baths of Istanbul, and one roadkill badger

We vowed not to loose ourselves again
In the flurries of seasons
Swore on a slice of driftwood
That I held tight in my fist