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After the fires

There is no fall here.

Most nights are cold. And the days wear blankets of gloom like our destination is to be a funeral.

The trees stand upright and wind plays freely through bright green and yellow leaves.

I'm thankful for the sun that always remembers to come say hello; to come so that you could only ever listen for and never forget it.

For days like this; can I see it is not fall and I am content within the phrasing of a book in which only a distant sun, moon like a distant relative could truly inspire.

The storm has passed and left the air chilled.

We will all find ourselves searching and satisfied in the spaces and sparkles the sun can reach.

In this seek for the clearing we will be presented with ourselves.

Some reveals, in clear reflections and maybe others are overwhelming flaws but in each and everyone under the sheisty autumn sun can we be certain in finding ourselves.

The fire behind us.

© 2019 Christa Canady