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The Autumn within

I miss the golden Fall, that cries over it’s broadleaf trees, setting up a spectacle, sending me to my old books, to cups of chamomile tea and talks about how other Autumns used to be.

I miss the blurred glass, where I used to walk the tip of my finger, drawing paths to my future, looking for my way to reach you.

I miss the old me, the way everything had smell, colour and taste, the fragrance of my warm clothes. 

But I still cherish the fall I have. It’s still me in it, a little more cried out, a bit older, maybe with some dreams lost on my way. But it’s still me in it.

I’m her Isabela, She’s my ripe Goddess. 

I feed her trees, she’s feeding my poetry.

I am grateful for my life. 

Grateful for what I have been through, grateful that I’m alive to see another fall glowing.

My October … Thank you. 

3 thoughts on “The Autumn within

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