Petals in the pines…I have come here…once again
with your loving colors for the fevered mind
And, the circling of blackbirds to speak to me of the shape I am in
A little girl’s dream of…
lime and lemon hue
Spinning in the dance under the moon’s harvest
the autumn of sun’s riches
The mountains are turning a…summer setting gold.
A time for
letting my hair down
to bask in what the forest beholds.
There can be no denial from
the frosty aches
the chill from bent knee.
I take comfort from primitive slopes under
wildflowers and giant shrubberies.
Turning over maple leaf…brittle is the recovery.
When chasing a memory, I concede!
A wanting for everything.
Everything it should have been.
If I amble after a flashback…too far
It will surely run me back.
A tackle-box of strangeness from the past.
wheels in motion
fresh cut grass
the fur lined evergreens reeking of purity.
Inflamed by all that is good to remain.
I chase the postcard distance for a sense of glory.
Dignity, however, has only one expression among the tall peaks.
Nothing to glamorize.
No memory is free.