Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

Seasons Change

Orange trees,

leaning against the horizon,

days tire and go home sooner,

our world famous rainy days have returned.

I thought about the wasted summer,

how I barely made friends with the sun,

we were shy acquaintances,

and now I can barely see her face.

I drink hot chocolate,

as the trees in my yard stare me down,

waving their brittle, broken branches,

watching me write my way into trouble,

because the seasons may change,

but I never do.

Leave a Reply

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

You are commenting using your 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