Not yet for us the brittle chill of winter
when the once distant hills draw their blanket
of quiet around us – world narrowed
to the comforts of home
while the spin of stars overhead
seems to move faster
and the river’s pulse
slows and stops

No more for us the fierce burn of summer
and its call of light drawing us to lithe effort –
long days with the slick heat of sweat
easing our way as we navigate
endless possibility and limitless self,
tangled together like wild berry vines
whose sweet fruit is always worth the risk

Now this endless moment where we stand –
unsure whether to move forward or turn back
with the weight of together holding us,
the freedom of apart whispering in our ears,
and the wind through the autumn
leaves the sound of time passing
in a minor key

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