a letter for maple

cold isn’t the right word yet. brisk? cool? it’s something blue though, something that blends into the red and smears it with purple. there’s also the blue breeze blowing against your skin and it makes you shiver. i see you shake off a bit of your gold. copper? rust? something dying i suppose and being taken by the blue wind that makes the skin turn purple. it hurts now, a fresh paper cut. the warmness was too much but it was comforting in the grayness of the shadows huh? and there one could daydream comfortably waiting for a cool drink. i suppose you’re tired anyway and can’t wait for sleep. it has been mistaken for death for so long. what will you dream about? the sun won’t leave you, even as everything cools down to blueberry evenings, there the sun will be winking between the grey clouds. grey never leaves. maybe the green. the colors always stay maple, that i’m sure of. no matter how much we turn away, there they’ll be pulsing according to their moods. my mood, maple? oh honey, my moods are now dancing with the sky. the moon extends her skirts every now and then getting caught in my curls. the stars they pounce at every turn of the rhythm to catch a glimpse of my scanning eyes. maple dear, do not fret, sleep. i’ll take repose now and then but i won’t forget you. when you rise from your dreams i’ll be better for you, i promise.