Beneath autumn trees
so bright with orange light
crackling over lush golden grass
we are rocked in gentle pastels
colours of childhood songs
and remembered places.
Fog grows
from the night ground
the hush of withheld breath
and covers the house
like a gloved hand
pressed over
a screaming mouth.
Well, this certainly takes an abrupt turn! I don’t think I want to be in this house when it’s foggy. 🙂
It did turn rather quickly. I hate the fog.