They are Red, Yellow, Orange
Leaves falling,
Round pumpkin fields and a cool breeze across the porch,
Smell of clean air amidst football tailgates and hot dogs amidst the cocktails in red plastic cups.
Beau is dead ,
Over cast of a morning, long faces, it’s Thanksgiving time
Working a soup kitchen enveloped in hugs but wanting to be with him.
View from above the room, I am in a pool of tears.
Empty yet full of fear.
Bright sun cascading on my face outside.
Each ray a kiss from him,
A comforting caress.
Sitting in total shock in a friends kitchen.
Colored magnets streaming crossed the refrigerator
And as I pray , are you OK?
I look at the letters, they spell “Peace. I love you”
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