• Vol. 07
  • Chapter 12
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Bright Harvest

Autumn patterns braid my hair my skin my years as they see them
I should be golden not grey
The sun catching the shades of orange, auburn, fool’s gold no more
Like a Russian wedding ring plaited with the colours that catch the light
From all the different angles that come with age
Wise, foolish, world worn, but still dancing like the leaves that fall from heaven
Sent trees, speaking their grief, or making their offerings
That children and dogs can play
In the crisp crunch of the leaves
Just as they splash the puddles
And my heart still plays with them
My smile reflecting in the wet tarmac
Or the car wing mirror—which is very flattering
Don’t fear autumn or winter, don’t worry that there won’t be spring again
This is your time for harvest
Pile your seasons high
In all their shades
From fair dawn yellow to the moon’s silver
Carry them in your steps
Splashing as you walk
And if you tire, you can lie soft on the bails of memories
Or beneath a tree of youth waiting to see an apple drop
And when it does fall beside you
Don’t just admire the colours—take a bite