Little reds

Mostly there is no snow, no sunlight.

Then I like to look back on autumns last breath.

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As soon as we reach the end of the path where no sunlight makes it through the trees

we reach the little hill full of old apple trees. How often we have been here,

but nothing is the same. The light that shines on the dry grass, the orange

leaves and the young woman with her little son, playing with apples

under a tree so quiet and carefully. 

One golden maple tree stands out to me that crosses another path. The twigs

have this shape you want to sit on and read at, or just watch people being excited

about the little red balls that cover the grass in some spots here and there. 

I want to soak in all of it, I want to be in every moment.

I want to remember how the light feels on my skin before

November takes it away.

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