But it doesn't feel any different.
I agree with you, Jennifer, the prompt for yesterday was...odd, but I got stubborn and took a stab at it.
Sept. 22--In the blue night frost haze...--It was so quiet that each blade of grass underfoot snapped like a dry twig. The cold had come fast and hard at sunset. All day the feeble sun had tried to muscle its way through the thin overcast, tried to lay its warming rays on the autumn earth letting one more day bask in its heat. Finally just before it sank below the horizon it broke free of the clouds and spread it's golden light, but the angle was too great for much warming. Nightfall had brought freezing cold, frost that pierced the lungs and lay white in the blue moonlight.
Hack out a few words and I'd have a poem, I think. Anyway, it's writing.
--Barbara
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