The forgotten pumpkins are black with rot.
Dogberries squish and bleed underfoot.
The trees have been battered, standing half-naked and disheveled, robbed of their beauty.
Brown leaves scurry across the pavement, finding refuge together.
The smell of death and pumpkin spice lattes is in the air.
This is the end.
Deirdre Smith has dabbled in writing for as long as she can remember. She is a part-time Guidance Counsellor and a full-time mom. She resides in the always colorful St. John’s, Newfoundland.
WOW! Deirdre, very black, very sad, brought tears. A genuinely finely wrought piece of writing.
Thank you!
Deirdre, this is sensational writing. One of my favorites this month.
Thank you!
Gob-smackin good, DS. I was there
Thank you!