As the South Wind rolls by- you can feel the roiling storm that comes with it.
With it all, is also a grand shift.
The dampness of change arriving with the chill.
With the chill, comes the leaves' fall.
An event guided by Fate.
As always, it's never late.
Pinwheels fly, and colors deepen.
Heralding the coming season.
And the world adapts to it.
For what reason is this season so lively when it comes along? Is the notion of the motion of preparing for the next to come; that fun?
When the Winds change directions; there comes resurrections, of things reoccurring.
As if they are awaiting the South Wind's call, and they make way for the Great Fall.
YOU ARE READING
Morose Sunsets
PoetryA collection of very short poems that I hold dear to me. Not even sure if some of these are poems. Each of them are actually in relation to future characters in some of my current and future stories.
