The BellIn the dismal rain, the scene was a cacophony of grey. Black umbrellas cast somber shadows over the muddled faces of the crowd, blurred by the steady downpour. The very trees drooped, casting their branches upon the ground in a sign of surrender and watching morosely as the crowd made its way down the street. The sound of a bell could be heard tolling from somewhere within the city. The people seemed to be making their way toward it as if it were calling them.I watched from the alcove of a building where I had been sheltering from the rain. My red umbrella, tucked neatly beneath my arm, looked out of place. I felt as if I were disrespecting
Embers FadingEmbers fading, dimly glowUpon the window's softly worn ledge,Lighting an eternity, reflected every wayThe glass sets a fire, burning with warmthAs I gaze across the fallen scene;Warm leaves of deepest redAnd of radiant orangeLie in wait as the season grows old;Memories of half lost thoughtsMelt languidly throughout my mind;Whisperings of autumns pastEcho freely through the maple boughs,Rustling the remaining leaves;Between panes of dusty glass,I watch the sun melt a rustic red,Merging with colors gold,And say goodbye to autumnAs embers grow cold.