Uncontrollable
Awoke, sprawled in the lap of bright gold autumn sunbeams. A thick presence of a million dust motes riding the light rays curtained my vision, as I perched on my table and watched the outside azure pitted in a war of colour contrast with the fiery gold of dying leaves.
I can't help it. Autumn makes me wax poetical. It's not my fault I have an uncontrollable desire to paint literary pictures when I see the pale dusk sun setting the crowns of perishing trees aflame...oh stop it.