Something Creative
summer barely breached the horizon when
fall gusted in, filled with swirling leaves—
unchanged yet into the brilliant colors that
herald their death; early snow in great fat
flakes, silent white birds clouding the
sightscape. Twilight comes, tangled
pink in the golden tamarack; crisply
blown arctic air flings itself against
the shrouded sliver of moon, lady of
mystery peers down. All the wonder
of life here in the North, rugged cliffs
and forests call out in a final deep
sigh before Hypnos & Morpheus
return in the cold of winter’s embrace.
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-
me
