Autumn folds her variegated cloak around me, and the wind sends forth spiraling leaves that float momentarily on the disturbed air before settling on a crooked path winding through the trees. Some of them have been uprooted by winter’s strong gales, or cleaved by lightening. Before toppling into the supporting arms of their comrades, where they now repose like dying martyrs, they heave a sigh.

I walk alone.

Bird sounds echo off the pond. A squirrel chatters, and an airplane drones in the distance. Leaves comprised of coral and gold, form a gay ribbon of celebration. Their scent of spice and dying flora is reminiscent of a lover’s musky skin.

Did you love before you died?

You rose up to heaven on hesitant wings, a broken song bird. I envy you. You located your tribe who were camped out on the escarpment of night, eagerly awaiting your arrival. You now gleam like a newly formed star, radiant with secrets the gods withhold.

I long to quench my thirst from a goblet of hemlock, but the time is not now. My earthly trajectory unfailingly falls short of the open arms of cherubim. I am bound for glory on leaden feet.

I dream of you. Waking tears the shroud of dreams, where I momentarily fly above the tree-line.

We are particles of the same star, you and I.

Existential angst is a constant companion.

I’ve been taking the long way home, but I know a short-cut.