I can feel the creeping want of winter
I dream of bare trees
The leaves shaken to ash
The air is slow to change
A steady whisper across exposed skin
The smells rotate
Smelling of nothing and everything
Crispy air bats reddened cheeks and hands begin to find homes in gloves, pockets and the warmth of another
The world seems too settle if only for a moment
Too drink up the anticipation of cooler months
YOU ARE READING
Contemplation
PoetryPoems to feed your soul Some old and new Be wary that the content is raw and open
