Seven weightless strides trail from one region of the forest to the other.
The trail blazed is a new path, one not taken before.
My eyes are still affixed to the wooden frame aloft,
Just like they had been when I spoke.
I lay immobilized.
The weight and warmth devour me.
The heap of leaves and warm sunlight consume me,
I feel secure.
I feel at ease.
Feelings I haven’t identified in what seems like a lifetime.
Autumn shelters me, and for a moment I overlook the winter,
The foot of snow and icy air dematerialize,
And fall resides in February.
The leaves’ gentle breeze wisps past my head,
Fabricating sweltering sounds that revolve about my eardrum.
The wind susurrates the bed of grass as if it’s speaking,
Possibly whispering to me.
Promising kindly, “I love you...you’re not alone”
I can’t make out if this is reality,
Does the wind really assure?
How may I trust something so evermoving,
Something unable to be captured or seen.
Can autumn honestly be my companion, after being a lamented season?
These questions orbit my conscience,
And without consent or awareness,
Time has reversed and brought me back to September.
The firepit crackles and cries,
My tear drops sizzling in the fireplace.
“I’ve never told anyone that before”
I call into the wind and the valley of disintegrating leaves.
Just as the air evolved from crisp to to sultry,
And the wind veered from piercing to gratifying,
She pulls me back in time.
Before the wind contained a thousand voices,
Before the trails all vanished,
And I was abandoned to ignite my own fire, without wood or matches.
But right here and now,
Her delicate September voice drives away those voices,
And blazes trails,
And kindles a flame
With just one sentence.
“You matter to me.”