Fall - not winter, not spring, not summer -
Fall
wet leaves
copper cold on my skin
the smell of damp earth, comforting
rain falling in drizzling sheets
toes are cold, socks soaked through
Someone’s chimney puffs out smoke, which hangs low
and makes the rain smell like smoldering wood
Air, cold
rain
wet leaves, copper underfoot
You take my hand
and lead me home
-rjm
loose threads
a smattering of things
recent posts
about
Jo McCrory is a writer and artist living in northern California.
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The empty house that haunts my dreams
Thresholds into bare rooms that I never enter
We have lived here for ages
We have never lived here before
I hear the echo of years down the hall
The whisper of your lips grazing my skin
Did I say too much and spoil the dream
Before it even had a chance to begin?
-rjm
loose threads 