getting lost on the path
So many different ways to turn in this life, so many things to be and do and say and make. And all the accomplishments I have not yet accomplished sit stacked in a corner, mocking me. It’s okay though, I am good at turning my back on them, ignoring their whispers, re-straightening their pile when they get out of order.
I don’t want accomplishments anyway, I want to stand in the sun and breathe in the crisp smell of autumn.
The trees are especially vibrant this year, and I suppose the drought had something to do with that. The dried stalks of corn across the street are the perfect foil for a backdrop of orange and gold and crimson against the blue of sky that only happens after summer stops stealing its deepest hue.
I want to walk for days with my boots on, kicking up leaves and listening to the sounds of another year getting ready to put itself to bed. I want to choose the prettiest leaves and make a bouquet for the mantle. I want to hear the thud of apples dropping to the ground.
I miss the geese this year, with their raucous all-night parties ringing in my ear. I wonder what new place they have found to rest their weary bones, if they miss the swamp as much as I do. My monkshood is blooming right on time, the deepest of purples against the yellow leaves of hydrangea against the fresh pink of anemone that surely got its seasons all mixed up, for that color can only really belong to Spring.
Mother Nature has accomplished everything on her list this year. But then again, she always does.
I wonder if she ever stops to smile and listen, to feel the sun on her face and take in the beauty her brush has painted. Or does she hurry on with her nose to the ground, making ready for the next set of chores?
Maybe none of this is meant for her, anyway. Perhaps it’s all for us.
And she’s just waiting for someone to notice.