The Yellow Woods

I love walking the yellow woods,
With the cold fall air squeezing my nostrils,
Remembering the colors that came before,
Walking paths here and there,
Thinking of ones I have walked in the past,
With stronger steps, more sure steps,
In greener times and warmer weather.

Looking up now at the gray skies,
Where the sun used to shine happy and warm every day.
Squirrels play in the twigs, like old times.
Heartwarming to see how some things never change.

I remember sitting once on that stone wall,
Hot sun laying in under a bright blue sky,
My soul swollen with grief.
And there, when my father died.
And there, when my mother passed.
Days emblazoned on my soul
With searing heat that can never fade.

Yet, there’s that happy meadow,
still green and bespeckled with autumn flowers,
I remember being there on my wedding day,
And when the kids were born,
And the grandkids.
Maybe I’ll stop there today.
Maybe later, when it’s warmer
and the woods don’t push me on.

That path over the hill is a good one.
I stand a moment to smile and remember the day I followed it through the warm green woods.
I don’t think I could climb it today.
These old bones aren’t as forgiving, or strong, or ambitious. But I wish.
I wish for that stone wall,
Where I felt so alive,
That path up the hill, that meadow.
To chase a squirrel one more time
for no good reason.

It’s sad to watch another yellow leaf fall. So relentless. So inevitable.
You don’t know what’s coming,
But you know what’s coming.
You know that the cold yellow woods
Where your soul has lived,
Will soon be quiet, brown and black woods
As the last leaf before winter falls.
Then the black will be covered
By silent freezing whiteness
And quiet emptiness.
And my soul won’t walk that way anymore.