The sun set fire to the trees this morning. The maples bear their torches high into the sky and run along the streets and backyards in their race towards winter and the grueling tests of endurance they will face.
Flash Fiction Fridays
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- A Death in The Family
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"I will breakfast from the cupboard where uneaten dreams are kept"
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Yet they will live, as they have year after year. Where are you running to this winter?
Yes they do reclaim life, and if I may continue in my poetic mood, return in spring wearing the bud wreaths of victory. (Jeez, I’m gettin’ strange!)
Neha, my only retreat is within myself, where there’s a room in my mind no one else can enter.
Beautiful, Susan. I’ve missed reading your work. It’s a pleasure to let my mind go beyond hurricane paths.