Friday, October 25, 2013

Autumn


Crisp smells 
of decaying leaves
leaves my nose
reminiscing 
It almost smells 
like sticks
on a campfire

The woods and us:
Dad loved nature
Hatchet, water jugs,
lantern, matches,
effortless explanations 
of the way things were

Aches after every hike
led to subtle complaints
He was always 
observant
Impossible avoidance 

Now:
distorted vision
Images blurred,
indistinct 
The patter of tears
on dogwood leaves 




 

 

No comments:

Post a Comment