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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.


Run, January 11th 2009


I didn't even know what to make of the sunset
All bubble gum pink, pastel blue, covered in the palest gray wool.
It would have felt like a sugary-sweet nursery tale if not for the 
Aggressive shocks of verdant moss and the blood-crimson berries.

The odd song of the gulls kept me company 
As I ran through the park of naked trees, 
Each surrounded by the brittle brown aura of
Leaves long fallen.

The crows with their guttural gossip followed me
Past the melancholy of decaying tombstones
Thick moss, deep mud, punctuated by 
The occasional silk rose.

The dropping temperature invaded my throat
With its icy breath replacing my own
The rain stood in for sweat and 
My only defense was to just keep running.