My toes know of the incoming days,
The closing in darkness -the crisp, morning haze.
And autumn kiss – sober.
They’re Mourning.
The winter…
It’s coming.
No dancing in rock pools,
No squish of green grass.
It’s all past.
The burn of the concrete.
A pedicure foot treat…
Paint of bright colours – are covered.
There won’t be a splinter – or blister to bandage.
No hot grainy sandals…
Just fibrous wrappings, and long, laced, high boots
And soft lamb coat trappings.
The long days and nights, in shoes with no buckles.
No windows to shine through.
My toes know…
They’re yearning for freedom.
Petronella Boonen
InkCloud 2.0 
Great post 😁
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