I have lost
my way amongst trees
so tall; without lift I cannot
often see the horizon or ascertain
just how far the journey will be.
Occasional sunshine wafts down
through spidery branches long emptied
of colorful leaves, scattered still about;
their brilliance settling into dryness
and soon, decay.
Still I walk.
Deep mossy green beds
tempt with the promise of rest,
of comfort and less travel;
hoodwinking velvet that will elapse,
disappearing into damp darkness
and finally, bitter cold.
The abrupt chill of November can
offer no consolation to this voyager.
I pull my wrap tighter and plod
farther down the trail.