Indian Summer

September 12, 2013

Swirling winds pick up;
Subtler hues in your eyes
Shine like the hard faces of
Gems cut from the earth.
It is not yet the equinox.

I wonder if the roots of
Trees feel the warmth
Of autumn sunlight, or if
They drink in the soil
As their foliage turns
The colors of passion:
Orange and crimson.

Hopefully your mind
Wanders like mine,
Swaying like those leaves
In the dusk, braving the
Mires of reality just to
Think of me.