Gabbie L.

The Castle was changing. They could hear it, in the distance, the slow scrape of stone on stone, the rumbling echoing up from the halls below.

It sits on my window,
catching afternoon light,
shining and glinting dully,
Sea glass-
fragments held in the mouth of a sculpted fish,
worn by sand and curling waves, 

It's the smell of autumn I love the most-
the damp decay of leaves and old undergrowth,
permiable in the air of every forest shedding foliage.
I've spent hours with that smell,

Darkest Storm, 
O why do you weep so?
What brings the smell of petrichor to our noses, 
that makes us inhale deeply and sigh?
What makes you scream your thunderous bellow, 
so loud against the patter of the rain?