Waiting

Fog has dressed the world in shades of grey,

Gold-touched leaves still, unmoving.

The hydrangeas, weary of standing erect now bow their heads to the ground while one lone cricket scrapes its song slowly.

Pause now.  Reflect.

Heart and breath quiet, enveloped by the stillness.

Not yet the storms of winter, the whirling wind-torn branches and swirling snow.

Not yet the cocoon life shut within protecting walls.

For now, the grey stillness of a world closed in.

Waiting.

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