Photo by Sixteen Miles Out on Unsplash
it always starts this way
with a shushing
a dull drum
sweet and low
pulsing like
a heartbeat thumping
slowing, slowly, slow
the trill of birds
tranquil
winds broom leaves
into corners
to sleep silent and
crunchless
pumpkin spiced air
evolves to
rich chocolate mints
hot swirls and sacred fluffs
fight
the wind bites
nips
prickles the chin
fills the lungs
awakens the spirit
the spirit within
the sun races
but dark outpaces
when winter peeks in
she opens her lips
and nibbles the skin
* * *
© M.Lee / all rights reserved
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