That season

First words first,

last words,

last.

I walked  my usual walk up the hill

from work today

and it was warm.

September warm ,

on my shoulders.

I had errands to do.

Chores that took me past

fields of waving wheat,

waiting for harvest.

The air was fresh,

clean,

with the smell of apples.

Our river~

the colour of slate grey,

and on it..

a solitary rower,

sailing as if he

was rowing through those fields of

stretched,

drying corn.

The sky,

as I watched him disappear into

the golden hues of

Friday night,

became gold.

With the indescribable gold,

of Autumn.





Last words ~::~
thanks blogger,
nice new templates and interface :)) x