Heading home,
triplets in the twilight hour,
silent but moving
through the dusky air
toward their sure
stopping ground,
a winter’s tale away
from here.
Can I follow?
Or is that flight
for less tethered
creatures,
less rigid rule
followers,
who see the setting
season and
acquiesce into their
remaining life
bound only
by obligations,
responsibilities,
and promises–
but not,
by love, kindness, nor
care?
What paths are
left to follow?
Return you three
to your summer home
and remind us all again
that some fowl come
and some go
in intervals
of predictability,
but time,
it only goes
forward into
the final
winter season
of our lives.
Word Play 