Snow in Autumn falling,
yet hanging on to fresh air
gliding then tumbling, spinning
like the moon shedding a dusty layer
Rustic leaves land upon the earth
slowly dying, whispering
final moments of life
as winter's calling arrives.
I spy the nightingale
eye burning like a candle
beckoning me from my shattered daydream
snow crunching staggering, I approach tentatively.
Cautiously optimistic,
I seek conversation of melody
however I fall deaf to song
and other peaceful endevers.
I expected rain, not this biting cold
flowers hidden, their bloomage carpeted
that bird still watching me
a blot on a blank canvas landscape.
Wishing for color to explode
like confetti during a thunderstorm,
my mood shifts, cheeks blushing,
he heard my mind before I spoke.
I lay on my back, this ice blanket distorting
'Mr Nightingale, you have freedom'
'this whole world to explore.'
drifting away while making snow Angels, pretending to fly.
"You are but a fool to think that seasons bind you,
for within each precious moment, you are given
a light to guide your apricot eyes; you are a fruitfull spirit"
now fly my child, he whispers,
