Whispers in Amber (4/4)
A tree stands still in the amber haze,
its shadow blurred in autumn’s gaze.
The sky, a hush of silver-blue,
remembers storms that never blew.
A river bends through velvet light,
where branches lean to kiss the night.
Their murmurs caught in mirror’s glass,
or were they echoes from the past?
A quiet bridge of weathered grace,
spans softly where the waters race.
It binds the hush from shore to shore,
but not to places I’m quite sure.
The fields are ghosts of sunlit fire,
each blade a brushstroke of desire.
And in this hush, the world rewinds,
to scenes the mind reshapes, then binds.
May 5, 2025
