Drip
drip
drip.
Slow and steady the autumn rain mists over the tree tops.
memories thick as my wool shawl encircle me in an embrace.
Nostalgia poignantly arrives at this time–appearing when least expected
but hard to shake off.
Each sound, smell, and spectacle are doorways to a moment in time.
Long gone.
I’m left grasping, and wondering why those ghosts haunt me still.
Scrape
scrape
scrape.
The rake gathers leaves in the yard.
Fallen memories welcomed in the fading sunlight.
The nip of the air as my eyes water, not from sadness, but at the sting
of the past.
To see time move, and be unable to stop it,
to slow it,
and to keep moving forward all the same.
Takes a brave heart,
a hopeful heart,
still searching for rest.
The rustle of the leaves not yet fallen are the echo
of my sighs,
And the premonition of faded–
but not forgotten–
times.
the sagacious bee 