Getting Colder

Lover's Leap
2.6 miles

Autumn.
Not crisp, damp. Morning
mist leaves mud. Soggy decay is all that is left
of summer. And leaf-mold intrudes
my sensitive sinuses.

Twenty years gone;
burned.
Feels like ancient wreckage.
The earth recovers,
reclaims,
moves on.

Bare-trees filter misty Sunday sunrise. Skipped church for sabbath alone.

November drizzle
distant children's laughter
I stand in the cool, damp ruin,
listen,
this place longs to tell its story