The last door of Fall.

She looked at me with her deep black eyes.

Fall fell behind her like a backdrop

a side note designed for emphasis

to be felt and then forgotten.

fall always is.

The winter comes behind it

sweeping up in its tragedy

the tipping points of colour

the moments where change began.

Winter cuts it down to essentials

leaving the what if frozen into a certainty.

It could be no other way.

Fall fits her

with her slim mouth

and the slender voice that slides from it

like red leaf stain drifting down the grass.

She looks at me like a door

and suddenly I am unsure

if I am fit to be tried, opened

or if, in my own secret winter,

I should stiffen into solidity

as locked as the sap caught in branches.

She turns her head

it feels like a key to me

with her eyes sliding inside of me

and with a sliding click

I fall open.

I reach for her.

With my hand, my stumbling voice

whistling through my mouth

like a coax, an invitation, a plea.

The tree behind her drops two more leaves.

She is looking at me with her black eyes.

With no question in her slim neck

she says,

"Earn this."

And flew away.

Inspiration given by. Josie Morway.

http://www.tinyshowcase.com/artwork.php?id=1668