By Melissa Farnsworth


walking with my dad

 

on a chill day

 

in crystal autumn

 

the cold is stinging

 

the wind whips at my hair

 

and bites my nose

 

all around

 

tall grasses bend elegantly

 

in the wind

 

and small plants tumble

 

around my ankles

 

high above me

 

a choir of trees is singing

 

with the running wind

 

a seasoned conductor

 

first singing shrilly

 

now whispering icy secrets

 

the brilliant leaves

 

red orange gold

 

quiver bravely against an

 

ice blue sky

 

and I can hear the cold