Here now sketched dark against camellia pink a washboard sky we settle into this dry creek groove flames tick and fizzle around lamb chops bums sunk in canvas foot fired and smoke eyed review the day's Boab sightings milk bottle trunks, branches in a ghost’s wail and you peeling potatoes at the border - Fruit Fly rules laughing like billy water
So I thought I would write a “groove” Quadrille for last week’s dVerse prompt. But what was on my mind was Boab trees. And it prompted a memory from 20 years ago. A rare trip with my brothers. A campfire. So it’s not a Quadrille. And it’s too late for the prompt. But it does contain the word “groove”.