Contemplative Moment

Contemplative moment Late October if has rained but stopped the town is green air mild and gentle, but no jubilation no flowers grow. Seed slumbers in the soil. The mules in the field look pensive, sad too they are of no use anymore the farmers keep some as they make the landscape rustic. Who loved a tractor painted blue? The harvest of this year done; sheep sheared look naked as they graze under olive trees. I can see it in the eyes of all living things: Melancholy. Will we be here next year?