november

We started up the trailhead, leaving our car alone in the parking lot.  We walked single file, you in front, as we weaved our way though leafless branches stuck in winter’s shadow heavy with autumn rain.  It was quiet. The only sound was the crunch our feet on fallen leaves and sticks scattered on the wood chip path. The day was unusually warm, but it felt cool under the weight of thicket’s canopy. We reached the edge of south hill’s shadow into the warm wind and sun; you reached out to hold my hand.

out-stretched rigid wings 
wind weaves; feather folds shiver 
her whispering cry 

November Gallery:

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