Wearing the Day

Today had a hole in it.

 

Not a great gaping hole,

 

No vacuum, sucking joy and hapless animals in,

 

But a tangible pull,

 

A drawing in,

Like an indrawn breath.

 

The sky was a deep and creamy blue,

Layered with clouds of cotton and pewter.

The air was fleece-throw soft,

Warm for December

But gently chill,

 

Like frosty wool.

 

All the grass has browned

And settles for a sleep.

 

A few green leaves still cling

But most have drifted into senescence,

Resting on the brown grass like carelessly scattered fruit

In muted golds and reds.

 

I felt a pull,

 

The day drawing me in

To the center of itself

Where I would settle with a muted click,

Drawing me in, to a hole in the center

 

Shaped just like me.

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