yesterday,
a week that was.
Season change ~
colder nights
breath on the air
and taking out an old,
weathered copy of Wuthering Heights.
It seems right.
Long hot soaks
in the bath.
The little luxuries of life.
Your kiss so small
and your touch so warm.
Imagined owl song ,
that light I love
at dusk
when candles glow
in the room
and street lamps
light
with a strange, hopeful warmth.
I can smell Christmas.
The windows are filling up with sparkle.
Looking towards the sky
I reach my outstretched fingers
and hope to catch
the
star fire.
Today,
yesterday,
before
the leaves had fallen.
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Pretty misty stars