Crisp, clean air flowed through our lungs.
Languid noise rolled off our tongues.
Light broke through the limbs of trees;
Branches rustled in the breeze.
Conversation came with ease–
Bright autumn hues were all we’d see.
Slowly met to harvest more.
Years behind us,
Childish noise that I adore.
We would know just what to say
And walk that gravel path each day.
We’d play and harvest as trees swayed,
Words spun and dipped like a ballet.
Fading, soft light,
As we gathered together.
Memories last forever.
–Albert L Swope