Pumpkins.
It is slightly gloomy and slightly chilled, the overcast sky makes the plant life dark green and the pale concretes cool tones stand out... crisp gentle wind caresses my cheek
a black butterfly with yellow-orange tipped wings flies by my face catching the waves of breezy air
the faint smell a pumpkiny fall candle Is burning in my house, candle lighting the room inside with a glow through the windows
i wear my black boots as i garden by the wooded trees of my property over hanging me, dancing around in circles at the canopies like wind chimes
and the black dark wet soil crumbles between my finger tips, with worms and pebbles embedded into it, like the dark tree roots nearby
wild hare and blue jay, Red Robin, and dark crows flock to the fruit trees, and hide amongst the magnolias or gardenias.
My tiny dog who looks like a fox, absorbs the moon as it rises in the harvest evening, nose lifted in the air. Creature of the earth.
At night we walk by the orange glow of lanterns that light our way, our cold footsteps are heard by nobody, there is total silence in the dark and not a stranger passes. They fear the shadow dark night of October.
But my dog and I enjoy, having the acorns and wet puddles soaked with orange leaves, all to ourselves. And the wafting smell of, bonfires, freshly made dinner, and clean laundry, and magnolia trees, through the air.
Makes the perfect accent to our moon light back drop, painted stars above us in the dark sky, encompassing us like a canvas. The wet asphalt knows us well here, it can identify our foot print and we are familiar like a recurring passer by. It is our place.
It is slightly gloomy and slightly chilled, the overcast sky makes the plant life dark green and the pale concretes cool tones stand out... crisp gentle wind caresses my cheek
a black butterfly with yellow-orange tipped wings flies by my face catching the waves of breezy air
the faint smell a pumpkiny fall candle Is burning in my house, candle lighting the room inside with a glow through the windows
i wear my black boots as i garden by the wooded trees of my property over hanging me, dancing around in circles at the canopies like wind chimes
and the black dark wet soil crumbles between my finger tips, with worms and pebbles embedded into it, like the dark tree roots nearby
wild hare and blue jay, Red Robin, and dark crows flock to the fruit trees, and hide amongst the magnolias or gardenias.
My tiny dog who looks like a fox, absorbs the moon as it rises in the harvest evening, nose lifted in the air. Creature of the earth.
At night we walk by the orange glow of lanterns that light our way, our cold footsteps are heard by nobody, there is total silence in the dark and not a stranger passes. They fear the shadow dark night of October.
But my dog and I enjoy, having the acorns and wet puddles soaked with orange leaves, all to ourselves. And the wafting smell of, bonfires, freshly made dinner, and clean laundry, and magnolia trees, through the air.
Makes the perfect accent to our moon light back drop, painted stars above us in the dark sky, encompassing us like a canvas. The wet asphalt knows us well here, it can identify our foot print and we are familiar like a recurring passer by. It is our place.
Ok
This seems like an awful idea, those poor paranoia and delusionally based patients.