I’m a little speechless, because these words speak so well about the passing of seasons and memories of our days gone by. Beautiful.
In the late afternoon shadows, by the underlit leaves, near a tree bent by the weight of its own fruit…in the breeze between summer and fall: there, in the crook of a bush by a rock I spied a colored egg overlooked last April, a memory of youth still sealed like a wish, better left to itself.
Pen & Paper 