I see when I close my eyes:

A small clearing in some obscure woodland
And me perched on a bark that is higher than most
Observing the trail of trees
As they wind away from me
To a distant place I care not about

Calm white waters all around
And on a small wooden island I lie down
Oars overboard, sans sails
At the mercy of currents
Swaying to the rhythm of solace

Dried leaves strewn about
Like vestiges of memories laid to rest
And the trees now bare, bow down
To the might and grace of autumn
While I step on those memories and walk ahead
Slowly, earnestly and with great will
In search of my autumn


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