From Autumn, A View Of Winter
From daylight, the hours slip.
Into night the hours arrive.
I see them as new hatched fishlings: blinking, gaping, full of instinct.
Leaves; autumn is famous for leaves; for the ruby’d mulch.
It is daylight, I am walking with Dog, we go under trees, alongside the swelled river.
Walking is thinking but thinking outside is release not compression; the scenery is not lost.
Head full of projects and lists, aims, objectives: internal mulch.
What next?
The paths are covered.
A winter story is coming: barefoot, towards the hearth. Smells of candle wax and cocoa.
Into night the hours arrive.
I see them as new hatched fishlings: blinking, gaping, full of instinct.
Leaves; autumn is famous for leaves; for the ruby’d mulch.
It is daylight, I am walking with Dog, we go under trees, alongside the swelled river.
Walking is thinking but thinking outside is release not compression; the scenery is not lost.
Head full of projects and lists, aims, objectives: internal mulch.
What next?
The paths are covered.
A winter story is coming: barefoot, towards the hearth. Smells of candle wax and cocoa.
Comments
I'm so ready for the roaring fire and marshmallows!!
Love your writing!
And thank you!
I'd steal that phrase if I didn't have blogger ethics. :-)