In the trailing days of summer

In the trailing days of summer,
on the first cool swish of autumn air,
I catch the exhale of my youth.
The spirit of my former myself
whispers of her hopes and possibilities
and sighs of her solitude.
She lifts my bones and blows my hair,
and for a moment we nod in recognition,
marveling at the turning leaves,
relishing the transformation,
wondering if we alone see.
When I walk trails alone,
I find her, my old companion,
the one I always thought was broken
but was only in constant Fall.
I dance the dances she dared not,
she sings the songs I no longer can.
yet we touch palms and see
it’s only the skin that has changed.

— Paige Puckett, Sept 6, 2019