There is not a firm step in Autumn.
The snowfall of bright falling leaves
invites me to dream as I rake
them into blankets for winter’s nursery.
The anger I so often carry in my steps
surrenders to the sleepy hours of shorter days,
the gentle voice of house slippers whispering
across my bedroom floor.
This year of sterile rooms and moans
quietly disappears into the mist
of kinder memories, hot chocolate mornings
that speak you don’t have to hurry now.
So many believe it is a new year that commands
resolutions, new beginnings, but it is when
trees explode into their confetti last hurrah
I begin to feel the first flutter of new wings.
©Susie Clevenger 2024
Comments
but it is when
trees explode into their confetti last hurrah
I begin to feel the first flutter of new wings."