Each year Autumn makes its slow burn to winter.
A wistful time.
A transitional time.
A time all of itself.
Each person’s Autumn has its own timbre,
its own scent.
A last breath.
Inevitable.
04
Oct
2013
water
23
Jun
2013
Soft Summer
I am just returned from vacation. A family trip, to visit family. Time by the lake. Play in the water. Tubing, swimming, paddle boarding. The sound of children laughing, cousins playing, music on the stereo, motorboats, ice cream, bonfires, glow sticks, and s’mores. The things summers at the lake are made of.
But the morning rose slowly, softly. The visual accompaniment to the childhood snores emanating from the children’s’ room. A mist blanketed the lake and seeped through the trees.
Quiet held off the advance of day as long as she could.
