mountain pass
the air is dry but the ground is wet
it’s that time of year small changes
begin to quietly accumulate
as you rummage through the
remnants of autumns past
you swipe through abandoned cobwebs
absolving them into nothingness
using only the palms of your hands
artificial light reflecting off your eyes
you unknowingly digress in time
ancient secrets like recent memories
october two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 
Beautiful words, John…
Thanks so very much, Lauren.