Winter
Leaves blow
and gather at the foot of the wall.
Night is silverly silenced wind,
except for streetlights
touched by electricity’s singing.
Houses are silent.
We’ve withdrawn from the rain.
Closed curtains. Pulled chairs to the fire.
We know this wind only as winter.
Written for De’s dVerse Quadrille #195 “touch”. Quadrille’s require 44-words, sans title. Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified as such in the ALT text or captioned. Images are copyright and not to used without permission, which I willingly give when asked, and when not for commercial use. Imagery and poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2024.
It's Still Life 
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