The Journey

The mirror that once reflected the bloom of youth, now fogs. The heat fades, crossed by cool changes, surrendering its moment in the sun.

Framed faces of days gone by, dot the walls like snowflakes, falling from the sky, and a symphony of colors drift from the trees. The cottonwood begins to dance playfully on the breeze, framing my face, ever so softly, as subtle imprints of age, begin to mark my skin, like maps of a place we've yet to travel.

Seasons of our lives fly by, whispering the secrets of time. The planets align and stars are crossed, as I listen to my first sounds of frost