The Unravelling | colours

All those colours.

As I write this we’ve already passed the inflection point, each day now slowly melting into grey. Gone are the explosions of light, the luminescent trees against a black canvas of roiling clouds. Small supernovas in their brief howling climax, dead from northern winds and a fading sun.

As I write this only pictures remain, splashed in red, gold and brown.

Tomorrow the day will be shorter — again.

Tomorrow we venture further into the pale.