The Softness of September

I went for a stroll on a bright fresh September morning and sometimes there is something so perfect about certain days, certain mornings. The way the light falls and its quality makes everything just enough, nothing else required.



The Softness of September


settling like warm snow


the long sigh

after the summer sprint


singed and scarred

armour cracking open


a snake easing out of

its old scales


a plucked owl

revealing it’s thin sinews


and the single spark

that lit everything


the ember at the end

of its name


still glowing



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