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But It’s December Now

By December 12, 2023March 1st, 2024Creative Writing
woman's hand holding a fallen leaf

when the trees spoke to me
I whispered back your name
on every leaf

they asked why I’m not moving
on, I’m moving on,
I’m moving, at least.

my feet crunch uneasily beneath them
their vibrance, their color,
their life

because there’s a quiet
chill as the season
descends

I held you
in September,
remember?

we are losing time,
losing leaves,
losing light

stay?
you smile sadly, and
their voices crack

branches, like
claws outstretched,
reach blindly

as one
by one
your
names
fall
to
the
forest
floor.

Photo by Valeriia Miller