Time passes, and seasons change.
I’ve walked this road with others who have
now departed, some not of their will, some not
of their power, but all the same,
not here.
It’ s lonelier now, yet no less lovely than
it’s always been.
It’s just that the silences grow deeper
toward the end.
Thoughts grow louder, and
small victories are
celebrated quietly in the heart
with whispered exclamations.
I feel gentle fingertips of a chilling herald wind
brush my cheek, and
smile at the inevitable winter.
And here in the cider- scented,
gathering autumn,
these vibrant colors
of my later years,
glorious before the blackened white
of my return home,
spring yet remains.
Beyond Panic 