Far off on the horizon
I see something white.
If I try, I can make out
the billowing of a skirt
against the setting sun
and I close my eyes
to see her long, dark hair
brushed by the gentle wind.

Around me, trees are barren
of leaves. The ground is littered
with an array of colored refuse:
Nature's farewell to summer.
Winter fast approaches; a single
frosted snowflake drifts from a gray
and lifeless sky. I lift my hand
in benediction. Farewell, my Summer.

Nearby I know people mill about
aimlessly toward their destinations.
Do they know where they go,
or do they merely hope that there
is better than here?
I have friends among them,
people I love and trust,
if only I could go to them.

Here I stand, waiting patiently
for something I don't know.
Waiting is nothing new to me,
patience is an old trick learned
ever so long ago; I forget when.
Will I find what I seek?
I think maybe not: dreams are fragile.
Still, I wait and find hope, still.

Far away against the horizon
I see a flash of light.
Is it the thing I wait for
or simply another illusion to chase?
I am not so jaded I will not look
but I know better than to assume.
I will always seek the horizon
and maybe, someday, I will rest.

But not today.