Trees with apple-red tinge, streaks of a freak, her leaves are starving fish swimming near the surface of the mulch below my park bench.
I am awe-struck at their suffering, by the raindrops a cobweb hordes, jewels placed on a delicate silver chain, like inedible berries in the garden hedge, like the laugh lines of the evening rain. The sun pretends it will be faithful, but slowly backs away. Infidelity in a few stray rays striking a green park slide, slick Granny Smith remains unlicked because this time of year, everyone's too busy to pick. Besides, it's covered with the talons of trees lost before the surrender. And I forget myself in the first autumn breeze, which asks me mockingly, "What is forgiveness if not letting go by degrees?"
©2023 | K.F. Hartless





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