Morning, early fall.

Morning, early Fall. Hazelnut coffee
and ripped jeans through windows, people
streaming out of and into doors, and blue
peeking around the morning clouds; while a bit of
chill comes by, uncertain it is any longer
a remembered thing. But she remembers, and
the memory is such as brings a smile to
her face like a joyful dawning, the moment perfect
in its fullness, the smell of the coffee shop and
the feel of her own skin like the excitement before
the start of a balloon race, and autumn turns
into the eternity it always was.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s