Thoughts of fall, the colors melting as falling leaves spread the residue of change across the landscape.
Shrouded in a fine myopic mist, the land lays waste to a slow death.
Wanting to hold on to precious life, the false hope of the future lasts until time reaches out and quietly asks it to return to the earth.
I saw her last under the light of summers soft kiss.
Warm and inviting, her embrace was as comforting as it always had been.
Seeing her now, the embrace, although still present and soothing, was now noticeably cooler.
Regardless, my love still flowed freely like water cascading into a calm sea
and the anticipation of the future made me smile.
After the fog has lifted, and after the skies have cleared,
the cool wind, in its infinite simplicity, sweeps in and pushes the pain away.
Floating on the breeze, memories weave in and out, each one maneuvering itself and
fighting for domininace in the dark void of an otherwise bottomless abyss.
Crawling, reaching, crying-each tear shed burns the eye, searing through the milky
lens that protects us from ourselves.
The inner sanctuary, compromised and corrupted, still holds the promise of an existence
worth living, despite a stream of consciousness that otherwise tries to silence us.
The Zen Hiker 