A line of towering trees fading into Autumn ironically reminds me of a forest fire.
What leaves remain on their trembling branches are vibrant hues of oranges and reds and yellows.
Trees lose their leaves from top to bottom, as their source of life is on the ground.
"The closer you are to the roots, the longer you live" is a common motto they preach.
Because of this, their tufts; their branches that grasp for the Heavens, always grey before the rest.
Reminding me of smoke climbing into the clouds.
And possibly, if you don't concentrate too hard on the fact that Autumn has not done this,
as you are driving between lines of their majorities,
you can convince yourself you are driving between flames.
Cutting them right down their bellies.
YOU ARE READING
Punctuation
PoetryPunctuation means everything. Punctuation does everything. Punctuation is everything. I'm promoting punctuation. Promoting bringing commas back, promoting exclamation points, promoting questions and promoting finishing sentences when they need to...
