From Somewhere In My Childhood
Winter air
waits
behind the sun.
It comes
from somewhere
in my childhood.
Hear leaves crumble
below my step,
September’s sharp tongue
stings the air.
Mulch and scrub
and skeletal limbs that
stab the sky.
No direction.
Without intention,
approaching gloom
sings to me.
dVerse Quadrille #112 (44 words, excluding the title, including the word “sky”) © Misky 2020. Image from Flickr Commons Courtesy of Missouri State Archives 1908 CC:00
The days are undoubtedly getting darker… I love how poignantly you highlight this. 💝
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Winter air waits behind the sun. It comes from somewhere in my childhood.
This is a stunning write and to me evokes the aging process….the passing of seasons…..the wintering of age.
The illustration is a wonderful photo.
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Our poem reminded me why I love autumn so much, Misky. It brought back memories of going to school on dark mornings, taking in leaves, conkers and acorns for the nature table, or creating art from them. I still love kicking piles of leaves, September’s sharp tongue, and those ‘skeletal limbs that stab the sky’. I too love the song of approaching gloom.
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Love these lines, especially:
“Mulch and scrub
and skeletal limbs that
stab the sky.”
Pieces of childhood come back strange, don’t they? Amazing images here, as always.
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We share the same mood for these days when days are getting shorter.
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“skeletal limbs that / stab the sky” — that slammed some fantastic imagery into my mind!
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Beautifully expressed, the stabs of the past and memory like winter’s coming.
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It is so sad that humanity and our habits and recklessness make it difficult tosee far in the future. Let’s hope out childrens childrenwill be more sensible.
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“September’s sharp tongue
Stings the air.”
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It's Still Life 
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