the road towards autumn

there are songs crunching under my feet
the rough callouses on my heels caking with cold mud
there is a lane in front of me that has always seemed endless
rolling and stretching through trees and blades of grass
i am carrying suitcases that are fuller than they were two months ago
weighed down by rocks, letters, string, paint, and water
freckles adorning my hands, the pink colour fading from my skin
there are memories in my chest, of tears and laughter, sunlight
of fireflies and turtles, hares and coyotes
my back feels weighed down, the red and green of canoes reflecting in puddles
my body is full of these things, always carrying, always remembering
always singing and feeling the heat of fires, the distinct hum of the forest
a guitar buried underneath a decaying picnic table
walls covered in notes from twenty years ago
the river soaking into the palms of my hands, curling my hair
summer fills my bones with these things, imbedding them in marrow
and the road towards autumn leaves them strewn across the countryside
a bicycle drags, a stretch of yarn attaching it to my ankle,
begging to be ridden, to feel the wind on my neck, the great hill carrying me
down into what i call my wilderness, what i crave through the bleak winters
and with one last glance toward the closest thing to heaven, autumn welcomes me
with the promise of laughter, the promise of songs that make no sense
the promise that there is a place for me