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
2 comments:
I'm there...
Gosh this makes me homesick. I miss winter.
I love the way the last line is like a beacon leading the last few steps home.
Post a Comment