The fresh smell of morning dew
Reminds me of a time ago,
when the trees outside
(in their shades of viridian
and pale green),
were teeming
with chattering finches.
And autumnal fingers
gently enveloped the fields in
a white mist.
Now there is silence outside my window
And a grey terraced smudge replaces the trees.
A winter’s chill I cannot shake.
© 2010. Sarah Horne. All Rights Reserved.
Author: Story
Writer, occasional artist, hippie, Reiki healer and lover of nature.
I love the absurd, the strange, the beautiful, the sublime. I love what happens when humans allow themselves to be Real, when the light pours through the cracks. I'm a fan of Wabi-sabi, imagination, candlelight, stars, humour, magic.
I love to read stories that break down barriers, reminding us of the sheer magic of simply being alive. If I can ever touch anyone through my writing, I am deeply grateful to be able to do so, because to me, the act of writing alone isn't complete until it's been read.
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Spiral Paper Moon 