The woods stole me today and I was grateful
that molting maples hummed their familiar hymns,
brilliant notes of crimson and lingering gold.
Dad, you walked beside me, chatting, invisible,
so I became five, fed nuts to nattering squirrels
as your big hand tugged at a cherished season.
Once, I’d thought you mapped the flights of geese,
scattered turbulent clouds in some grand scheme.
Again, your voice traveled as we walked the path,
windblown, while my footsteps crushed old dreams.
By Cyndi MacMillan for the Autumn Splendor Contest
Written Sept 9, 2012