The trees rattle with the fresh coat of fall color.
I wait here, watching for the next one to tumble to the ground.
The breeze blows a gush of the crisp Autumn air.
The next to fall, from a sycamore.
O how I love the sycamore...
In a woods of hundreds,
how the white and brown flailing bark will stand out against the many...
Leaves just as large and as proud.
I hate to see them float to the ground,
sorrow within such grace.
I pull the layer wrapped around me tighter as I listen to the birds converse.
They are flying away further down south.
Flying away... as the leaves are floating down...down... down...
Here I lay idle and in-between, wondering "where the season will send me"?
The nostalgia in the air tickles my senses,
flexing a desire tinged with despair.
I pine for the characters that plagued my mind with foolishness last year...
My Mary, her plump red cheeks as they crest just below her warm smiling eyes,
The lonely whispers of Dog the timber wolf,
His large paws stomping the dusty path around his 8x8 cell,
Bear's gentle spark of sarcasm finessed with his light hearted laughter.
Even Gabriel's gruff nature I mourn.
I loved them before I even knew their names.
Would a return be the same?
Such as the Sycamore leaf,
I will float right back into place,
back into the arms of their ever so loving embrace.
Yes... that's where I shall go...
back to them, the characters that loved me so.
At night when the hoot owl calls out to me,
"Its safe, Its safe",
I will listen and go.
I will sit still with Dog in the dark.
He will be proud while I hunker low.
We will stare at the moon and wonder,
"Where shall we go".
Perhaps Mary will fix tea in the morn.
Bear will drop in for a visit,
O how the three of us will laugh and laugh!
Gabriel's presents will disrupt the room like a chilling breeze
but I will smile on.
Bewildered will he be!
Never had they known I was gone...
Myself the writer, the time traveler, the mystery...
Trapped with in the world of reality,
Just waiting for the leaf to fall,
A season to set me free...