My Wife Gave Me a Rose

I walked over the autumn’s leaves and borrowed a fruit from a bony tree’s branch. I rested under a shadow – where no shadow I could see - and opened a book to read with serenity. I will borrow from the rose the color for me to dress when I met night’s eyes gazing me afar. Leaves and pages are mixed, The path I came vanishes in the night, and the road ahead ends with the next step. If I had no cause to move I would have to invent some, be God, be fame, be hunger or thirsty. Yet, here I am walking by the grass, hearing the owl whispering in the dark names I better never forget. I may have left the windows and doors open. If the wind brings rain and thunder I will not return to my old house again. A slope invites me to slide on the lawn, fast and also careless, down by the hillside… And now? I hold the book in one hand and the hat with the another. Jump on the meadow content, hoping bellow there is a road to follow after eve’s greeting.