Honestly, just life.

it was warm outside, with little shivers of wind blowing across the land. and then whenever the sun was supposed to grace us with its cheery disposition, the clouds covered the sky and it rained. the entire day. inside was warmth and lights and piles of laundry and dirty floors and a little boy to play with. my sister did laundry and i mopped the floor. that was my day. yest i cleaned my room. CLEAN. and emptier. and my bookshelf. i really have to have a moment of silence for my bookshelf. i finally could put all of my books on there, and then on the top went all my millions of journals. cue the music. cue the silence of me as i reflect on this work of art and the imaginary music. i read a book today. The Little Paris Bookshop. and now i'm reading another one, i'm in the middle of it. 13 Little Blue Envelopes. and also i'm positively starving for a chocolate croissant. i will love you forever if you bring me one. or three. or five. with a coffee. now for the poetry. which okay, sorry if you're creeped out. i mean, kind of sorry. sometimes, we have to deal with the creepy and the sad.

Colors of Death

Scarlet, granny apple green

and pale orange

flutter to the dying ground;

cut by the wind and

neatly tossed.

Layered colors of death.

November sky, rustling brown

and ripening

begin a remembrance

of beginnings and

now endings.

Layered colors of death.

lp @2019

lovely dreary rainy fall days to you all.