Ash

Outside the window sprawled an ash with splayed and scalloped leaves in pose. Each veined and blotchy web was stuck to misted panes as swirling winds repelled the rush of rust across the open view. The heavy trees were bowed with naked bones. Translucent leaves revealed their tiny veins like spider webs that riddled through each leaf. No pulse of sap now streams the cindered flesh nor crimson tones that once enlivened growth but stretched and tightly taut like brittle skin. An open window played a plaintive tune as grainy gnats then groaned on empty air and gathering the summer's dying gasp the wind expelled a final rasping note. But birds no longer sang on frozen limbs nor flocked towards the warmth of foreign shores. You lay in vigil as soft currents moved.