Afternoon Pastoral

(I was reading over my previous journal entry, and I thought maybe I could attempt to fuse some of its lines into a poem. I elaborated a little, and I thought I would post the result to share how my mind tends to work... And I included a photo I took. Thanks.)  
 
AFTERNOON PASTORAL
 
Dry leaves rustle,
crumble  
as the day grows older.  
 
I am alone;
my thoughts  
travel to dark places.
 
I am 50 and female,
an open wound.  
So much passion,  
 
so much tenderness
threatening to brim and spill blackly
onto something or someone.
 
Cars whistle down the country road
while roosters  
cry from within  
 
the farmer's property next door.
The world is not here,
it is lodged inside
 
some other window,
blurred and smudged  
by soft nostalgia and regret.
 
The wind swirls at my feet.
Then love  
slowly exhales,
 
swallows me whole
with no room in between  
for breathing.