Butter orange poppies spread across a California canyon in Spring
Or the orange of the western sky at end of Summer,
Reflecting off a stark butte in Wyoming ,
Is different from the orange of the leaves
Burning flames through a sugar maple in October,
Which is different from the orange in your sock
At the crack of dawn on Christmas morn,
Which gives sweetness dripping sunshine
To a dark, cold world at the dying of December.
About Me
- TBAYNHAMIII
- I was born in Kentucky, though my parents had been living in Knoxville before my birth. My mother's mother lived across the street from the hospital in Hopkinsville, Kentucky, which was convenient. I moved around quite a bit when I was young, but ended up in Georgia. I like to read and write and love food and drink way too much. I have a funny wife and daughter who has finished her batchelor's degree and is living with her grandmother in North Atlanta and studying advertising. I sometimes wonder what life would have been like if I had not gone to law school. Regrets come and go with the seasons.
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