657. 2/10/16 (#649)
My breath hangs in the air,
A gathering of mist ahead of me,
Rolling off my face as I walk through it
The last few drops seem to trickle down my cheek
Leaving a trail of wind-bitten skin.
I rub my hands together and bury them in my coat
Blood runs back through my fingers, thawing them,
The sky is blue as my lips, trembling in the chill.
Autumn has taken her time,
Dragging her heels as she clung to the sleeve of Summer,
Begging him for one more hour together,
But now she is alone, her pale breath consumes the air,
Replacing it with wind as crisp as the leaves it blows down.