Jasmine Nicole Bruns
The Fall
It
looked like the dead of summer,
And felt like the midst of winter.
It smelt like the beginnings of spring,
But it was only the mid of fall.
The sky was moist and grey,
And palpable breezes blew by my face.
Melting water hung off the edges.
Not even soulless leaves dared make a sound.
Each shiver could be felt individually,
Like sharp quick twists.
Even the bright green leaves shuddered with coldness,
And white metals looked wooden without the sun.