The desert is quiet in fall. I forget to wake up, forget to lift myself out of complicated dreams. Drink coffee slowly over morning reads, unbothered by the schedule of a civilized world, you do not take it for granted. The apple trees are reeling at the weight of their fruit, you think it's a metaphor of having all the things you asked for. Begin to see now that none of your life was lived in a box and it only hurt when you tried to make it. You are forever standing on the outside looking in, looking at the warmth on the other side of the window but oh, how stifling that air when you've tried to breathe it.
Turn around, return to the road.
Find your warmth in the miles under your feet.
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