Darkened days now the norm
Temperamental winds usher in a frosty reality while
Falls grasp, tenuous and slipping,
Tries to remember days lost in an autumnal haze.
Fiery reds are extinguished and relinquish themselves to blades coated in a fine morning dew.
Wasting away, the tears of tomorrow are soaked into the earth with the
Promise of a new day.
Winter approaches
Clouds softly explode at night
Fluffy white goodness
The silence heard from afar
Empty looks, the fear of the truth
Both committed to the known,
Each seeking the peace of the unknown
Troubled in the now,
Waiting…waiting…waiting…
Helpless and waiting for what is imagined
Hopeless and waiting, watching time slip by
Dark brown, orange and yellow life sway in the cool October breeze.
Fragile and clinging to life, each one fears what they can’t escape,
The inevitable forcing them to hold on, the quest for one more day.
The days pass, the grip loosens and darkness overwhelms them-
Floating gently to the ground, memories of sweet summer days fade.
Meeting the earth, it welcomes them promising new life, another chance
At…Death? Rebirth?
The rain has ended
Solemn skies no longer weep
Clear blue skies triumph
A slippery slope,
The mind wanders
Lost in tranquility,
Sentimental thoughts
Movement,
The slight turn of the head, a look
Delayed ecstasy, a glancing touch
Watching, wondering, feeling
The struggle continues
With each fleeting glance
A lifetime spent looking back, but always waiting for tomorrow.
The hope of tomorrow, the promise of tomorrow.
We sell our souls for tomorrow.
Cessation of time
Marching forward through burning
Embers of a soul
Unleashed in its madness
To see the truth of what if…
Walking in beauty
Small footprints on Autumn’s steps
Eyes, open and wide
Tasting each moment as if
We had never existed.
A country pond, sitting serene under a cool blue sky, waits and wonders.
The surface, ripples forming in protest as the cool October breeze works its way across the quickly changing landscape, trees bowing and swaying in almost silent objection of the coming winter.
Soon, the placid surface, cold and lifeless, will carry the weight of the razors edge, pushing off and gliding in ever widening circles as the flakes of winter slowly fall.
The Zen Hiker 