I never knew seasons before,
thought seasons were windy
still
wet
dry
hazy.
not like this, this
green
then yellowing
red
bright
dying hillsides
dyeing fire
collecting leaves
walking in the cold wind
piles
and piles of memories
now dead gone bare.
clear nights
cold and gray and
white on white on white
reflecting
ice
cold
too long.
a sprig of green
palest green
ground
flowers
getting warmer
early mornings
returning to where
I started
almost as if nothing passed in between
only what I can remember.
here it's late
or early
and I hear a car skid off the road
I'm going
off my path
I remember when we too slipped around that curve
so much rain
calmly
laughing
I followed your lead
learning to laugh
unsure where I stood
you
understood.
he asks if we are in hell
and he's right and he's right and he's
wrong
made with pride
survived.