Uneven cobblestones make up the lane
As I try to find some better footing,
But the were leaves won’t allow any gain.
The path is gathering them by looting
The fall tress of their greatest finery.
They can no longer offer protection
Against the strong wind that blows so chilly
From its mountainous fortification.
I dig my hands deeper in my pockets
As I peek out from underneath my hood.
I start to remember things life forgets
Like how moments like this used to be good.
Nostalgia returns in the autumn
As each step sings with the crunches that come.
John Collings 