by Zinta Aistars
Tonight, I leave them be. Why sweep away such gold? If the autumn sky insists, I will allow.
Golden leaves cover the chairs, carpet the deck floor, spill across the glass table, lace the end table, scatter across the railings.
I sit back on the lounge chairs, seated in gold, and my book rests in my lap, not yet open. Another work day past, a new work week begun. All day I long to return here, to this quiet spot away, to listen to the day fade, the evening rise, and let it all go, let it all go.
These are the evenings we will remember when the winter storms begin, gold turned to silver, and the skies filled with white light. These are the evenings we will long for, so sweet, still warm, the air as soft and gentle as a lover's caress.