«^%..
.
?„*5-'
"•
•^
rita bell
October's here.
my
footsteps crunch the golden leaves
and echo dully on the cobblestones. alone, i
stroll
thru fields of goldenrod
wandering into woods where wind rustles sweet gums red as wine and orange-tinged maples touch the sky of cornflower blue, pausing i
lean against an old
fence
rail
weather
and
reflect
on
fate that
silver
keeps October
lonely and unshared. jill
bloodworth
