Monday, October 1, 2007


the wind grows chilly
as the sun sets early
the leaves dance their way
across my memory

the air is thick with
wood smoke curling lazily
from brick chimneys
and burning leaves

bees buzz purposely
around fallen apples
getting their fill before
the inevitable sleep

dried flowers and yellowing lawns
crunch underfoot
as I climb the hill
on the last leg of the journey

I'm almost home


Angelfish said...

I'm there...

Gosh this makes me homesick. I miss winter.

writerwoman said...

I love the way the last line is like a beacon leading the last few steps home.