The Hanged Man

The clouds that morning were the kind that said someone, somewhere, had been hanged in the night. The orchards were blooming and so there was the scent of apples in the air, too. Those who walked in town wanted to stay quiet and invisible. The sky was the color of the streets, and if they kept to the shadows they could almost blend in with the stone gray world above and below, or both—but I saw them walking, their heads down like in prayer to some horrible god and eyes that kept glancing around when they thought no one was looking. Walking as if the voice of the hanged man wasn’t still ringing in their ears. I saw them, and I saw the dance of shadows on their faces. The empty wrinkled lines where tears might have been if they had any left to give. Mostly their eyes that never once glanced toward the hanging tree, but still always knew exactly where it was .

Photo by John Mark Arnold on Unsplash

10 thoughts on “The Hanged Man

  1. Really nice writing David, I really enjoyed this piece.

    “Walking as if the voice of the hanged man wasn’t still ringing in their ears. I saw them, and I saw the dance of shadows on their faces. The empty wrinkled lines where tears might have been if they had any left to give”.

    Soulful piece my friend. Hope you are well, happy and I am sending love to you and yours. Joni

    Liked by 1 person

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