They sauntered along the path hand in hand, eying the trees bordering it with their bright reds and yellows and browns, and breathing in the pumpkin and banana bread scents.
I was gonna write a poem But I wound up shuffling words Until, my train of thought, t’was disappeared.
Through withered branches, shadows lengthen Sky has turned to golden dust
Okay. My head is still spinning.
I’m awake. More so than before. And contending with my sorely-nourished soul.
So you’ve given up on wisdom, for your “wise” is good enough.
When every plan has stalled a while And every thought unsure When the future is a foggy haze Or a tightly sealed door
It was a cold and windy day When I arrived in Petersville The trading town was empty as the sacks upon my arms.
My love.
