September of the tropics

I slept on the first morning and woke up on the 27th day. Time flies seems like an overused line. But how else could I say the passing of September? The plants I tried to rear last year are now vitamins on the dried potted soil. Death is silent. Usually.

Autumn is a season I have yet to see myself. Yellow. Orange. Red. Leaves. If you have them, please take photos for us, tropical girls with turquoise beaches, hot sun, and cruel typhoons. Our leaves here are now deep green, old and dusted. Some days, monsoon rains pour to wash the trees and our souls.

Yesterday on our
balcony, last night’s wind blew
a fallen feather.

©2022 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo by Diane Picchiottino on Unsplash

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

13 thoughts on “September of the tropics”

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