right before the magnolia tree was gone . from heat and neglect
as the wind whistled around my ankles in the softness that is five o clock
and barefooted warmth clung to the soles of my feet
I gingerly crossed the street to capture the textures and colors
aching to keep it alive . realizing with a click of the camera . this was one way I could
. . . .
sharing the blooms and buds and ache at imperfect prose this week