It was the first day of fall
with no difference in seasons at all
one languishing into another, blurry seams
where the grass only knew the shades of lost dreams.
We passed this way too. Saw the dying bougainvillea in final bloom.
Dried out trees too thirsty to go on, laid down at the slightest nod.
Skies of haze held the mountains tight, choking them out.
The ocean pushed at the land trying to make way.
We passed this way too. Watched homes grow up and slowly decay.
The rivers dry highways the new byways of forgotten life.
a profound missing sound had followed us around.
It was silence. We had no idea it’s weight.
We passed this way too. Casting long shadows ahead or behind.
Who knows which, spring may call.
It was the last day of fall.
Photo Credit: Anna Jones Photography