A Season of Solitude

Walk slowly. (photo: Gevert)

If the reflection of flames in the window
dips too low

Pick up another twisted stick
to place on the glowing coals.

If the distance becomes too great
by virtue of time
not by virtue of love nor virtue of space

You can still walk away.

Walk, slowly

into the woods in the small valley
past the wahoo berries red
past the traveling 
ruby-crowned kinglet

past the vapors of all those
who haven’t followed you

Walk, slowly

into your season of solitude.

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