It was the kind of morning
where the ocean on the
Other side of the range
Dances and mingles with the early air
making fog
as it thins in the strong sunlight
beckoning a body
of water...
It was the kind of day
the slanted afternoon sun
labored its rays through
branches burning the dirt of
crushed leaves and mulch bark
making ones insides rumble
with a hunger
for Freedom...
It was the kind of evening
the sky tasted like rainbow sherbert,
a warm breeze from below
that evokes the surge of a
swing-set wind
and smells of spent fuel,
a subdued din and
time slows
in fading light
into the kind of night
Shadows don't bother hiding
leaving a chill as they pass
and reeking of second chances
like other
Times approaching.
Painting by Firs Sergeyevich Zhuravlev (1836-1901) Bojar Woman via Wikimedia Commons in Public Domain.
