The Warmth

Harvest Moon

The evening sun abated, as the air filled my lungs with a furious intensity. Shivering as the warmth fled my bones, migrating without me. Leaving me to cower in my shelter. Rolled up tight and fetal, hanging with the harvest moon. A patient in waiting. Hoping the birth of the sun will return, to restore the warmth of my soul.

– Josh Fleming

Image by: Gary W. Green

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