The room was quiet, but for the near silent whisper of the curtain sheers dusting against the pane, as the autumn breeze waltzed through the small opening in the window. Peering out, she relished the cool comfort.
Beyond the long stretch of yellow-tipped green grass, was a thick wood. The brown trunks stretched into scarlet, papaya, and maize, swaying in time with the breeze, a postage stamp echo of the rural wood she knew as a child. Inside, her heart clung to the tree-topped rhythm, to the familiar, soothing music that belongs only to the autumn, the peaceful, vibrant tune of youth.
-image found on Pixabay; writing part of a larger work, shared as part of dVerse prompt, prose poetry