We are Not Out of the Woods

A sonnet

photo by William J Spirdione

We are not out of the woods, not at all.
The golden autumn sun is sinking fast.
Slipping on leaves, can’t afford a bad fall,
Not sure of the way, the forest is vast.

Fear and silence mixed with crunching dry leaves,
Worrying about people worrying,
Not sure of what danger the mind perceives,
Walking faster, anxious, and hurrying.

Are we going in the right direction?
Everything’s starting to look all the same.
Is that howling or the winds deception?
Don’t think we’re very prepared for this game.

Going to get really dark, really quick.
Better start looking for a walking stick.