The Scorched Earth

As I look out at the scorched earth of a Southern summer,

Somnolent bees nuzzling thirsty petals in the lazy breeze,

I wipe the sweat from my brow, grateful for this season of life.

I am in my own summer, youth no longer at my beck and call.

I feel the whispers of fall, the promise of change,

Another chapter waiting to be lovingly written in broad strokes.

Age is a gift, one that I want to unwrap slowly and carefully,

Enjoying each and every precious moment.

6 thoughts on “The Scorched Earth

  1. Beautiful visuals in your writing, Denise. Loved the message on aging, and I learned a new word to boot! Somnolent!

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