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.


7 thoughts on “Wearing the Day

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