Entry to this week’s 3LineTales! Image courtesy of Sonya.
Sunrise to sundown, the young tractor tilled. Cabbage, carrot, and onion, the seeds he filled.
Yet summer turned fall and no produce grew. Reap and sow! Hollered from his pew.
Till a neighbor checked, seed labels and all. “Biennial” it read, in letters not scrawl. “Least they weren’t apples” 🙂
A chill shot down the spine.
Everyone felt the sign.
Time to fly. Time for byes.
The train would soon arrive.
The troupe spun around and around.
Summer’s wind caressed, but autumn’s wind pressed.
Let one last embrace ease their rustling.
Let it hasten their scattering.
Currents drift, east to west.
The skies shortened, scribbling a draft.
Yellow, orange and black.
Return to ash, rise from ash.