winter afternoon
By benafim
Winter Afternoon. A this good silence, outside a dog barks and the wind is amusing itself by making dead leaves dance. I look at my hands fingers thinner than years ago, excessive skin on the back of my hands, are they really mine? I flex them slowly, painful now in winters; don’t let me down just yet. Light is fading ought to switch on a lamp, but it can wait while I watch logs burn in the hearth. The dog has stopped barking and the wind is no longer playful it howls like a hungry pack of wolves and stabled mules neigh gripped by an ancient fear. The good silence is not an enemy. Written November 12th, 2001 © on Nov 11 2001 07:47 PM PST 0 • 13
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"Winter Afternoon...."