Leaves pressed into the path, a permanent scrapbook of fall.
Pop art forms by the Isar shapes ripple, rise, and fall. Still, nothing’s breathing– colors stall. The trees launch crinkly confetti bombs, leaves liberated at last. Take cover in a graffiti underpass, silence sticks quick to undecorated walls. Welcome to our hollow fall.
K.Hartless is a persistent poet and eclectic fiction writer. Sheβs been recently published in Luna Station Quarterly, The Last Girls Club, Edge of Humanity Magazine, Pure Haiku, and Spillwords. Her blog, Yardsale of Thoughts, blends fiction, poetry, music, and art to create new experiences for readers.
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crinkly confetti…standards maintained! π
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Why, thanks Hobbo. I feel fall here and it feels glorious.
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My bestest, favouritest season by a country mile! π
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I love it!
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Thank you. π
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That image is a perfect match for your autumnal celebration.
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Thank you, Misky. I walked partnach gorge last fall. A very inspiring place.
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