Poem-a-Day, Entry 320--

Hoarfrost.

Red leaves lie soft

      on the tops of trees waiting

   for the end to swiftly come,

             the broken branches felled

    against the brown loam,

             softened in the almost-freeze;

     and as the first frosts ebb and flow,

          I wrap myself in thin blankets,

                and beg the world to pause...

    just a moment.

          Just a moment more.