Loosely withheld fascinations,
Glimpses of mindful surrender through the rustic, burnt, glowing-hot-stove, honey-crisp-apple,mommas-pumpkin-pie, milk chocolate, and old-tractor-yellow colors,
Falling around my clouded Monday morning meanderings.
The jack-o-lantern's toothy smiles,
Mock me,
For someone's cut out their heart,
And left them empty,
And they know, I too, will be hollow soon.
A giant maple sheds, slow, sticky, tears,
As he watches a years work fall beneath him.
He fights the seductive slumber,
For he knows he'll dream of sweet spring.
But to him I say, we all wither in the cold.
While he wonders who could love his bare branches.
But he doesn't see his leaves falling, along with tidbits of seasonal nostalgia, being kicked up by frosty winds,
softening my steps, landing in my hair,
Easing us all into our own winters.
A walk to work to one person. This for another.