that time of year
As I sit, I am looking at three fresh, crisp, local apples at my desk.
It’s dark when I wake up, and the nights are drawing in.
I want to pull myself up under a blanket and watch costume dramas on tv.
Wind outside the house, red wine and a lit fire in.
Gourds and soups. Gloves and scarves.
That’s as close as I get to poetry. Autumn does that to me.
It’s dark when I wake up, and the nights are drawing in.
I want to pull myself up under a blanket and watch costume dramas on tv.
Wind outside the house, red wine and a lit fire in.
Gourds and soups. Gloves and scarves.
That’s as close as I get to poetry. Autumn does that to me.