Cool air tickles my spine
And reminds me that the promises
Of beach days have faded,
Much like my golden tan.
The body of water across from me
Has no pulse like the ocean.
It lays flat like a sheet of glass,
And reflects the trees that surround it.
They’re in an awkward place right now.
The trees, that is, much like you and I.
Not green enough for summer,
Not gold enough for fall.
Just a strange in between
On the second day of October.
We are scattered between
Acorns and fallen leaves,
Our minds nestled between
The pages of our journals.