Towards the End of Day

Towards the end of day
All is coming frail.

The petal edges
Merge with wall 
And tile.

The fern fronds
Form a feather blanket
By the shape of elm
And oak.

Ethereal voices
Echo on the wind.
The flowers of the field
Are fled.

The salt scent of the sea 
Is my companion
Foreshadowing my footsteps
For the way ahead.

JL July 15 13:35