Saunter winter. seem to sweep the air fall has done a fine job. wither. the scent of autumn blanket- the only remains. squirrels meddle and munch their breakfast, holding the grass firmly on their fore. quickly the grasses get chewed, swallowed. I can hear the gallop of grass through their throat. because it is. a kind of quiet. inside the womb, sorts. hares accompany the squirrels, in harmony. a rush of coal tits perch on the coffee brown twigs. behind a smoky backdrop. a pensive noon about the views many and many from the stationary sky to the passing clouds mimicking a rail or the straight, still, sober bushes, meditating or the solo coot looting the pond while the mallards go absent views... a vacuum, or a cave where I birth my words sing them to papers Fading Autumn pencil on paper listened to each other until the clouds began to grow dense covering the grey beneath the gloomy sky play a flock of pigeons ----- a distracted me wrap my arms to the crispy cold leaving the autumn ------ in bits of frost
