nothing is free son
all must be prepaid
a voice from behind the wooden wall warns.
mind your step son
on real snow must be prepared
as he trips his foot over a thorn
the glassy bottles rattle
as he glides across and prattles
leaving behind many feet long gutter
clash, crash, clatter, smash
gliding rolling sputtering
not to worry ma’am stop hollering
i got cash to pay
boy looks up into dad’s face bathed in bright sun ray
I took this picture in a mining town which had stopped operation. It is now for tourists and perhaps movies shooting. The autumn had long gone or was never there due to high altitude. But I like to keep the title as autumn story. Why? Because autumn gives a sense of forlorn beauty, a time to let go, mellow down and rest with a good warm cup of _________(fill in your favorite drink) and listen to random poetry reading, good and bad. Poetry writing is a personal thing. But reading is even better because the sound is part of the fun and you do not have to commit anything except some minutes/seconds of your life.