It Comes to a Beginning
As the colors begin to fade
And the last of the warmth seeps away.
One last jaunt into the highlands to
Bid farewell to the glory of autumn.
We wander the hills
Over rocks and roots
Under felled trees not yet prostrate.
Soaking in the verity of the moment.
I shall call upon that memory made
One cold winter’s day, when all I see is frigid blue.
I’ll remember the warm golden sunlight
And the warm golden leaves before they spirited away.
And perhaps for a moment it will warm me again
Before reality lays ahold, and the blue seeps back in.
But these sweet trysts of autumn during winter, spring then summer
Find me back to when the leaves espy their courage.
By Caitlin B. Foreman
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