We reach for the sunlight,
as it
leaves us shadows
of the mountains
in the meadows.
We look for
the milkweed,
floating
in the late evening,
sunlight hitting them
the seeds glow,
like dreams spreading.
We hear the birds,
calling as they
follow the sun and
as the moon rises,
we call after them,
thinking maybe
we should also
be leaving.
The hills are turning,
but we are still
unmoving.
The warmth we have now
will carry us,
hold us through the darkness
that will come.
Posted in response to the challenge PAST CONTESTS: Fall '23: Writing.
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