Mere days
after running,
no floating, for miles
along trails with rails, weather so
perfect.

Almost
peak fall colors
transform the view in all
directions, and you know you are
in it.

This is
your season. And
you spot, not one, but two
freight trains along the way. Waiting
to cross

the tracks,
you can’t, no you
won’t, stop. You are so left,
you’re right around the corner from
where we

started
this mess, come full
circle. Then it begins
to snow. Another blow to a
blown year.

And you
refuse to let
it keep you from going
outside, into the unplowed cold
blankness.

Winter’s
trying to crowd
out fall. Canopies of
snow weigh heavily on branches
with leaves

before
they got the chance
to fall. Yellow, orange,
red, even green moments whisper
through white.

Tiny
avalanches
spill on your head as you
push on, try to pretend nothing
has changed.