Cris Romagosa

December melts

It does. December melts every day away. Like a million sighs thrown into the fading sun, as if you could feel that breath, exhaling and melting, loosening away, into the mountains.

Days slip through my fingers, they turn night so fast. I sink in every glimpse of sun I get, we do.

Sweet warm meals, lots. 

The sun still does some red to my cheeks. 

Nature is letting go of every greenery dress, leaving the wood  bones fully undressed for Winter to rap their purest soul. 

I watch rains of leaves. With every wind blow, like a whisper of love.

And then I’m all layers now.

Everything is singing a song. You must bow into earth, and you can hear it.

The horses are getting loud, heavier, the crows love to speak loud while their watch from the skies, the hawks fetching lunch, and every root interlacing with so many others… the trees are leaving me wood and pines for the fire.

Do I belong?

I feel so.



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