NaPoWriMo Day 27: Fence

Fence

 

A winding of wire twilit dun

in the even of rustling grasses

halts eyelid closing and softens

the fall of night. Dun turns to

gold. The fences fade to naught

when night settles in.

 


Based on a randomly selected picture from Vanishing Breed, a photographic memoir on cowboy culture I found at Friends of the Library, which copyright prohibits me from reposting.

 

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