I’ve stood in the house of your wings and listened to you flap to the beat of time.
Open and close to show your beauty to the world.
Just a glimpse, and then you’re off.
Flying so high, I’m forced to squint to find you again.
Is that your hope?
To keep me looking up?
I will look to you forever.
When I died,
my soul burst into an infinite number of butterflies.
When you need me,
look for the flap of a small, orange wing.
Listen for my flutter.
I will migrate with you until the day that you become a butterfly too.
When my face hits the water, the world floats away.
until I become another person.
I am strong.
I am quiet.
I am hopeful.
The line beneath me and the breath in my lungs are all that matter.
My lips are fresh snow.
My eyes are two columbines.
Mountains fill my heart.
The clouds will still rise
Despite this air of defeat
The snow will still fall
Are we modern dinosaurs?
Will we be remembered a millennium from now?
Will they dig up our bones and revere us?
Will they have exhibits to show off our genius?
Or will we be sifted away with the rest of the sand?
The sigh of relief at the sight of falling snow is deafening.
This is our normal.
Everything finally feels right.
It’s long overdue.
The message from nature is loud.
Are we listening?
Let this fall breeze take us somewhere new.
Let the drunken, dancing leaves be our guide.
Let the pumpkins light the way.
Wrap us in an envelope of autumn.
I sit and listen to the mixtape outside.
The gentle hum of the AC.
The echoing chirp of neighborhood birds.
The mild clanging of wind chimes as the warm breeze flows through.
I listen in my heart and silence my own soundtrack.
I silence the frustration.
I silence the anger.
I silence every negative thought.
Instead, I hear.
I hear the coo of the doves
and the buzz of the bees.
My soul keeps this mixtape on repeat.