the horizon sucked the blue down into cloud-dream
holding its silvers and golds like a mother holding child.
the clouds pass by like they have somewhere important to get to. bird forms getting lost in the grey. and the leaves of the trees dance gracefully, knowing that their descent comes soon.
autumn is never cruel, and the beginning is my favourite bit. like a long exhale. you've been holding your breath for so long and now you let it, just - - go, whvoom, there.
bringing with its emptiness murmurs of folk music and solitude.
and life becomes something to delicately tie and mold back together, using offcuts of wool and feathers and guitar strings and broken things.
(this photo is not mine.)
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