In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Sparkling or Still.”
The sun is shining, but there are light and wispy clouds dancing across the sky. I look up and watch them spin and flow. There is an angel, a spiral, a flower. The fire is crackling; the bees are busy taking in the last of the pollen before the frost hits. It won’t be long now. The beauty of the fall flowering mums and drying of the raspberry fruits swirl together in one bittersweet scene awaking the senses and acknowledging the end of one season and the beginning of the next. A leaf falls. The smoke from the fire curls tall, spiraling toward the sky, then is whipped away by the newly arrived north winds of autumn. The ashes land softly on the keyboard and words flow freely, inspired by the freedom of a beautiful day off.