Leaves blowing from the trees, meandering down the street. Summer’s ending…on the edge of autumn. But the trees are not sending out their usual signal of leaves brilliant in orange , gold and red which normally illuminate my days, weeks before they become heavy with the dread of winter’s cold boring into my aching bones. Dismal is the weather, the wind’s power being thrust at me like bullets from a pistol, causing me to lock my door… fearful of what will follow. But as I gaze out the window, what is that I spot , a lonely plant ? Could it be the last rose of summer, dressed in its grandeur like Cinderella for the ball ? sharing my free-verse at Brenda Warren's The Sunday Whirl and Wordle #177
my photos, my thoughts