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Days of must

Date Written: September 3, 2017
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Waifs of powdered smoke, shifting like apparitions out the flue swirling and disappearing in the brisk eving air.

 

Vapors from the coals beneth the andirons thrusting the convection, causing the chill to swirl out of the drafty vastness.

 

The sun peaks over the harizon,  as the rooster trumpets the morning dew beads like sweat rolling down the blades of grass.

 

The creatures of the forest stir in chaos looking for morstles to feast on cowering at the shodows that soar above their fragial  lifes.

 

The day grows dry as the earths star raises higher and higher in the noon time sky.

 

A gust of wind unsettles the dust, with a wiff you can smell the rust of all the olden stuff.

 

The light begins to dwindle as the eve comes to settle on the day that has now begun to pass.

 

Soon it`s nightfall and the hunters arise disquised by the cloak of night most with lethal bites.

 

As the moon lifts high the sounds of the night, shushed like a sheet covering a sleeping child.

 

As day turns to night so as the ages pass in our life.

One comment on “Days of must”

  1. azzow2     September 11, 2017

    Much apologies haven’t quite figured out how to employ the spell check.

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