Dark clouds arrived over my high ground, filtering sunlight and growing shadows over the land.
The shadows kissed the faces of the innocent.
The hidden histories were recited. I sculpted them into the clouds. Then I leaked darkness into the sky and swirled a wish.
I wished for man to feel the shortening of days.
How long my mad season will last I do not know. The dark clouds obey the Wind. The Wind will do nothing except anything you say.
Your September forecast: Fall in my fields and forget your worries.
For dVerse Poetry Pub.