She Speaks Like Fall

Mother. Your gold words fall around me. Sometimes violently they blow by. Sometimes softer, more yellow and quiet. Brightly they move, blowing off each branch. They scatter, some in patterns that fit. Some in piles of thoughts that crave sorting. Moving only in the chaos of what comes naturally. Here in nature. I walk amongst them, hear each one crunch underfoot. I see some, as they fall from your mouth to where the wind then rests. Where ever. I shuffle through, understanding only parts from time to time as much as my mind wanders with my feet through the golden hues. That orange one is a memory. The red one is this moment. The shades of yellow are all of love's hues. The warmth of each one, where they lay, where they fall, where the breeze blows them. Scattering again. It's hard for me too, I try to say with each step. I'm focused on my path through this green forest where I keep walking, even if they keep falling around me. Even if they keep lining my way. Confounding in my face sometimes, but constant from full, white branches that stretch out across a periwinkle sky. This forest is ours and it is beautiful and it glows in yellows and golds.