Literary Yard

Search for meaning

By: Jim Bates

Fall was her favorite season
She walked woodland trails
Collecting leaves and weeds and grasses
Smiling and happy.

Sometimes she’d take him along
Holding his tiny hand
He’d follow her lead
They carefully gathered leaves
Marveling at their beauty
Red and orange and burnt sienna
Special moments in time
Her son now walks those same trails
Scent of fall in the air
Woodsmoke wafting on the breeze
Alone but not really
Beside him she joins along
Beguiling him with that fall palate
Especially her favorite color
Nestled in among the vibrant hues
Drawing him ever forward
Touching his soul through nature’s gift of color
Burnt sienna
Still after all these years like hers
His favorite color too.

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