It feels like our sun has split, temp is turning route and stoney grey white light now dips sooner still. No burning haze, nor warmth caught in open play and less so the golden rays from evening shades.
Darkened days will cling to run amongst us, when there's no fire blown above the hills. Age displayed as others ill now start to wilt, and aloft the silence drops without response.
Our sweet retreat returns from deeper dreams, before the fresh breath glimpsed in brand new air gives us this good grace of green again. The sense of death keeps seeping in resolve, for future stories to reflect as we continue to unfold.
Space to think less Space to be more That is what your coffee shop means to me And no matter how tempting the owner may be It's is no such she who I adore But the absence of the former self And the discovery of what is meaning more
Just a thank you from one artist to the next. Be it a selfish one aimed mostly at me. (;