The mist from the river
Settles above
Like a hovering, silver web
Protecting the inhabitants of the lake
A force field engulfing the grounds.
The leaves
Like crushed velvet
Are scattered like confetti
With buds of new life
Hidden beneath.
The air is cold and crisp
But in a refreshing
Slap-you-awake sense of being.
I sit on a wrought iron bench
My eyes slightly glazed
Taking in the morning beauty
Of the old Tudor house.
Crowned with crows
Hiding a dark, desperate secret
Buried in the past
Never to be rediscovered.
-E xxx
Photo Credit: tiikka at https://www.flickr.com/photos/36599408@N02/3376557384 (although I altered the colour saturation to make it black and white)
Dandelions & Daydreams 