View from Ground Floor Window

Poplars sway in the wind against the day’s final sheet of blue sky. 

The sun makes orange streaks on the uppermost branches.

The wind whooshes, a hushed, surging sound, almost lonely.

Or maybe it’s the sound of cars on the main road, commuters rushing home from work.

The poplars turn to ash as the sun sets.

Small Stone, Day 6, Writing Our Way Home

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