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Autumn Wind
October 20, 2023
The wind stains the sky
with flakes of copper, russet, and amber.
Her chilled hand moves across my cheek.
She talks to the trees.
My ears stretch to hear her words.
Yet, I only hear the trees whisper in reply.
My cheeks blush as she plays with my hair,
blowing it aimlessly
wherever she chooses.
I don’t move it back.
She has made her mark.
Who am I to change it?
I’d love to ask her why she rearranges the world
but she would not respond,
because the wind is free.
Free from apprehension,
free from approval,
free from apology.
And that is a truly glorious thought.
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