Feels like Fall
In the early days, it’s the smell of fish frying in an iron skillet. At its end, it’s cinnamon-scented pine cones and clove cigarettes.
Autumn breezes relieve the lingering sweat of summer’s harsh heat. We’ve survived the morbidity of the earth’s oven, which tries its damnedest to burn us alive.
These days never seem to last long enough, though somehow they always seem to linger on longer than they should. Light flees fast, yet the days manage to roll together into an infinite span of time.
The fall forever finds itself burdened with nursing the wounds of summer’s reckless abandon.
She takes it all, never complaining.
The greens of yester-season smolder. Yellow, orange, red.
Every tree catches fire, burning for months on end until the earth’s embers ash away into dust, forgotten like yesterday’s laundry.
Tear stained sweatshirts and late-night laughter punctuate mid-week monotony. Even a catastrophe seems better than emptiness.
Autumn breezes relieve the lingering sweat of summer’s harsh heat. We’ve survived the morbidity of the earth’s oven, which tries its damnedest to burn us alive.
These days never seem to last long enough, though somehow they always seem to linger on longer than they should. Light flees fast, yet the days manage to roll together into an infinite span of time.
The fall forever finds itself burdened with nursing the wounds of summer’s reckless abandon.
She takes it all, never complaining.
The greens of yester-season smolder. Yellow, orange, red.
Every tree catches fire, burning for months on end until the earth’s embers ash away into dust, forgotten like yesterday’s laundry.
Tear stained sweatshirts and late-night laughter punctuate mid-week monotony. Even a catastrophe seems better than emptiness.