Ease
A poem about the ease of fall.
The river flows down steep
rock to catch another current
midstream, you brush your hair
away from your face to show
a wide-eyed smile.
“This was great, the perfect day.”
Fall air lingers, begging
our collective nostrils to sink
into its muscular scent.
It’s been ages since we’ve been
comfortable hiking on this path.
The steep ascent of that scrambling
path reminds me of youth as our
calves burned.
We wiped our brows at the top,
when the forest held out its hand,
its vast expansive arm hugging
us, filling us with strength to
fight another day.
Even at the top, the ease of
this season didn’t fully register
until the tightness behind our eyes
melt away and relief finally
came.
We exhale in ways that purge
the obsessions from our days.
Just as we begin to sink into the depth
of ease, the multicolored leaves
whisper to us that it’s time to go.
We grabbed our backpacks
to move swiftly down the mountain,
each step clicking into the next.
We were meant to be, one with this
season, melting into mother earth’s
expansive beauty, not caring
who may see the glimmer in our
eyes.
The ease of this season is marinating
behind saltiness of effort that will
carry into the next season.
