Memories of the Beloved Trees

The ground was blanketed by the colors of the autumn’s tears. He felt then, another summer dream had befallen at his feet once again, not in shards of ruin, but in delicate pieces of the tree’s beloved artistry. The crisp golden leaves furrow between his raw toes, capturing the scent of borrowed time.

They send messages through the shivers of Winter’s fated kiss. He shakes them from his mind, as he tries not to relive this. Holding one between his fingertips, the leaf soft-yet cold with the frozen breath, his eyes capture a hint of summer’s glow, playing within the veins of the gold and red.

Such vibrance as he knows, only a month left, and it will all cover with snow.

He can hear the whisper of old pines, as they sing the lullabies of a colder tomorrow.

His heart begins to ache for the taste of spring’s early dewdrops. For he has tasted them before, as each one played upon his tongue, reminding him of the buddings of innocence and roses.

Perhaps, the snowflakes will become swift dancers, as they play before his eyelids. Each bounce in their best dress as the forest hums in protest. A singular tune is caught within his mind, as the sun’s warmth begins its decline. He captures the voice of farewells within his eardrums, during the wind’s haunting cries, for the forest begins to hide.