The New Englanders 16

Tonight, the New Englanders are watching the sunset. Pink, orange and red streaks across a golden glow, bare branches in silhouette. “It’s like a fireworks show;” they say. “Wild! Would you look at that.” They turn up their crisp collars against the chill; pick up stray leaves along the walkway. The New Englanders appreciate what is outside of themselves. “I’ve never experienced anything like it in my life,” they say to the sky, then go inside and lock the door behind them.

Nov 18, 2013

One of 30 poems in 30 days