Breathing Space

Prose Poem

Photo by on

Across the fading greens—splotches of crimson, yellow, and burnt orange. Ruddy shelducks in the wet grass: standing on one leg, hiding their heads from the drizzle. The soft rustle of jackdaw’s wings in the tawny foliage above. With a loud splash, an indigo-headed mallard lands on the smooth surface of the pond. Then all is still again, and silent, but for the occasional chirping of unseen birds. Summer’s nervous bustle a distant, echoing memory. The stillness, the faint scent of needles and fallen leaves, the birdless sky; a time for reflection. A kind of breathing space before the coming of first snow.