November Poem The Purple Two Steps From Helloweenhe walk into the woods lead to wherever I could not imagine into dense areas with deep shadows, clearings where the Sun rays get through. In silence the serpentine path claimed there will be more enchanting moments, birds songs in concert. Over dry leaves my steps crunched sharp notes confusing me as if someone was following. The sound of a creek came from ahead I could imagine crystal water running over rocks, pebbles, and logs stumbling against anything steadfast. Would I be able to find my way back? It was important to find an exit a village with people that would set me right, to get directed to the roads. Of a sudden civilization I missed. As I stood there immobile, the crawling of animals started, a bird up high went on a solo song, they wanted to retake their domain, strangers they distrusted. The overhead canopy opened to the sky, on my right was a splash much like in a painting of the brightest shade that curved up in an ascend to top of the hill, steps of purple with red, yellow Autumn’s leaves. In the glare of the opening was a man white hair, white beard, aged. I could not utter a word “Lost?” I nodded twice for a yes. Marcel Toussaint © 2013
Posted on: Tue, 19 Nov 2013 07:51:49 +0000
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