The day before winter

A walk, shortened,
in October bluster.
Black branches flailing
shake off leaves to the bonfire of fall.
Escape, they do, in a tumble dry dance.
Carpet the catwalks.
Stick to the shoes.

The future’s opaque.
Carrying, carrying things.
Stumbling towards rest.
Knuckles of anxiousness
push up, under the jawline.

Boxes,
unopened these years.
A pair of neglected sneakers,
remembrance of running,
regret now
they didn’t die a natural death.

This material mountain,
trove of trivialities,
hobbling our limp
to tomorrow.

***

image:  https://pixabay.com/users/couleur-1195798/