semi-farmed kind of life
simple observations on living with compassion and purpose
Friday, October 1, 2010
In crisp autumn air, my footsteps crunch
the technicolor memories now laid over grass.
Yellow and auburn gowns at their feet,
the stark trees stand, shivering and nude.
All the world seems emptier, abandoned,
a shell of its former self.
Summer's vibrancy whisked away on the wind.
There is no room for pretense here.
If I close my eyes, the rustling sounds like rain and
if I am not careful
all I pretend I am
might get washed away.
Moments have passed we cannot use any more
and, our cloaks surrendered,
the trees and I
wait for spring.
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