He felt a chill as the air grew cold
The leaves blew gently
He closed his eyes
This November was colder than usual.
He chopped wood and carried the bundle back to the fireplace
The wood crackled as it burned.
He thought back to Novembers long before, and was left, wanting.
A time where the warmth of the fire was felt throughout.
Where his jaded smile was once whole.
Yet only the cold remained. Waiting for Winter, silently and alone.
She was a flame he could not contain.
So the fire burned crimson, then blue.
Two flames dancing, never to touch.
Embers, swirling, in their endless dance.
Flickering, breathing, sighing.
He took a breath, yet no words came.
His heart fluttered, only for a moment.
A drum, slowly beating life’s tune.
A song long forgotten, a melody tried and true.
The words began to dance and a fire turned blue.
His feet tapped and his body sprang;
His heart fluttered, his heart sang.
So he danced in the twilight, to a tune he could no longer hear.
And he was happy.
To the Moon 