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Love is a Frequent Flyer

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With autumn comes the long forgotten tone of your voice
My pulse pounding sporadically against the receiver sets the fast paced sequence of reminisce, catch-up, and finally…

“It must be beautiful up there this time of year.”
“The trees are up in flames and leaves amass a bed of burning coals beneath.
I did not think I had seen true beauty before I had seen the northeast.”











My reply is quiet

“Why, I have…”








Now voluble

“The hard winds blow south now, through the lions mane of wheat.”
“But then again, you used to grace my eyes, so yes… I must have known beauty.”
“Won’t you let it carry you in?”





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