I was so sure of myself; remember
how I spoke of new beginnings,
new horizons. The future was spread
like the fresh greening fields
as far as my eye could see.
You listened to my assurance
of independent thought and plans
and I convinced myself, and you,
watching relief uncloud your face
as we went our different ways.
The clear sunny days of August
confirmed the pleasures of my solitude.
I stepped daily into a garden-full
of choices waiting for the harvesting,
and slept alone and peacefully.
Now it is leaf-fall again: sad,
papery yellow shedding on the lawn
like tears that will not be stemmed
but unexpectedly spill out long, long
after the weeping has ended.
I was beginning to welcome
the cleansing of the crisp, cold air,
to fold myself in comforts and
prepare for Winter – a hibernation
before the unknown year ahead,
then I found your dark green sweater
the one with the hole I never mended.
Wearing it I found your smell
lingered still and wrapped me round
with needing you again.