Muffled, cracking, crunching sounds,
Golden oranges, reds, and browns,
Dry leaves rustling in my soft hands.
A wave of air, a crisp cool breeze.
A moment of stillness, silence, peace.
Autumn smells scattered over decaying land.
A hint of merriment caught in the wind,
Quietly awaiting some virtuous sin,
Faces adorned with mischievous grins,
A thrilling cry as war begins.
Tossed up streaming clouds of colour.
Grasping arms to duel another.
Shrieks of laughter pierce the air.
Heaving, flying, nabbing, squealing.
Ripples of childhood surface, sealing
Any and all grief, burdens or care.
Battling tricksters frolic in dreams,
Joy-filled sighs and triumphant screams,
Inner children romping lost in fantasy,
Remember these times, wild and free.
~ Medea ~