Cornflower blue

Cold comfort on blurry mornings, waking up in the dewdrop dawn. Sharp sun needles piercing every wet pinprick on lobes and lashes, on nails and kneecaps. Summer has succumbed, giving up with the heave of a sigh; Fall is here to slowly drag her under, to smother each blade of grass, each paper blue cornflower under a damp blanket of moldering leaves.

And in all my years I've never gotten it down.  Each season shocks this goldfish brain.  I have never before known a Fall.  Opening new eyes like peeling back layers of onion skin, waking birth naked on unfamiliar ground.  The rustle of wind through aching branches, whispering remember to ears that wish they didn't know the meaning of the word.


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