Broken down shed at dusk, looking west. The birds light up the trees and the sky goes pink.

I could take a picture now with my phone but it would just be a postcard, and say nothing of my time here.

Instead, the season takes hold through sounds and scents. It’s nothing you can capture in a frame or a net. The moment will wriggle free every time.

Categories: Poetry

Tags: DPchallenge, Poetry, postaday, prose, spring, writing