Geri

Fall

You are still, but the bright trees around you shake. 

Colored leaves fall onto your surface.

The wind howls, but you are calm. 

My city, my city

It takes many forms

In people and plants

Vines and beggars

Angry men and sour women

The worst of the best people 

And the best of the worst

Poets and great minds

I hate the outdoors

The February sleet turns to March mud 

A murky pallet of miserable grays and viscous browns

As I climb