Tuesday, 11 August 2015


The gentle bite of an early autumn day.
A languidly rising sun shining through a shroud of morning mist.
The way it gleamed off the old maples, ripe with dewy jewels.
Leaves crunching and shuffling underfoot
as I made my way across Johnston Green.
I remember that moment.
It hangs in my memory like a work of art.
A fragment of time I yearn to feel again, but can only admire from a distance.

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