Image by Ioannis Ioannidis from Pixabay
When spring breaks, clouds cling to azure sky, gulls cry and traffic noises pry me from sleep. I feel weak with elation, swollen with impressions, freed from winter’s Acheronian introspection.
Joy released in breath, in the death of a sigh.
Summer’s opus builds, a song without words, bubbling, sizzling, smouldering like magma, alive, and elemental, desperate yet uplifting crescendo of transcendental moments kindled, sparking and shifting...
Birds fly the nest, summer rests encased in autumn's embrace.
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