Sarah Scott // WALK

I travel the winding road



The thick air refreshes my lungs

With its soothing brush against my skin

The fifty degree atmosphere matches my mood

I feel at home


Advancing further

I happen upon a leaf.

More appear as I pan my vision

Floating along the air, static while weaving through the oxygen

The crinkle and crunch between my foot and the solid ground

These are the products of the equinox.

They originated from the labyrinth of branches

Yearning to hang on.

But they have rusted beneath me.

We are home.