She felt it in her bones, a black ache –
stretched before her the long road
through Bleak months.
She was falling,
out of summer. Autumn already
and teasing
light summer days from her hair,
and with every step through crisp
rusty leaves, clouds
of red dust
settled on her white summer shoes.
It was time for Bleak shoes.

Author: Misky

‘Misky’ lives in the UK surrounded by flowers, freshly baked bread, and always keeps dog biscuits in her pocket for her blind Springer Spaniel. She never buys clothing without pockets. Her work is widely published.

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