I am.
I am a cold, crisp autumn field.
I am a plush scarf in the breeze,
I am omnipresent, and yet never near.
I am a crackling fire in a winter freeze.
I am crumbling, cold, and free.
I am encumbered by the slush and snow.
I am waiting toe-to-toe.
You have seen me,
slouched, burdened, fatigued by the stress of the day,
waiting in the back of the bus bay.
I am all, and I am more.