I am… I am but the star dust that tumbles I am but the twig that snaps beneath your umbels…

October

The morning’s light climbed with such a particular hue that  No rose-colored glasses were necessary that day. In the afternoon the whooshing sound of the blackbirds echoed a sweet song of comfort as they leafed in unison from one golden birch, to the next…  And in the pine scented evening, with only ghosts to keep one company  a shower of ladybugs was a most unexpected elation! Pen and Ink and thought by Anastasia Traina ~ 2014 ~

The morning’s light climbed with such a particular hue that
No rose-colored glasses were necessary that day.
In the afternoon the whooshing sound of the blackbirds echoed
a sweet song of comfort as they leafed in unison from one golden birch,
to the next…
And in the pine scented evening, with only ghosts to keep one company
a shower of ladybugs was a most unexpected elation!
Pen and Ink and thought by Anastasia Traina ~ 2014 ~

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s