(no subject)

[plural]

fall brews
its
first storm

you can feel it
approaching
wind dancing
with fallen leaves of red

the rain comes
sweet cleansing rain

I take out my soul
rest it upon my shoulders
let its parched flesh
be
redeemed

it is remarkable light
these days
concerned with things
far away from
every day dreams

lifes little twists
and
beautiful ironies

my walk finished
I return to my home
hang my soul
out on the clothes line
and
retire to rest
listening to the whispers
of the wind
and the pitter patter
of little rain drops