Doors open and close
Their wooden facades chipping,
little brown snowflakes
floating to the ground.
The sun is setting,
golds and oranges
slowly melting into the horizon.
She is sitting in the kitchen
watching all this,
You walking through the door at sunset.
She wonders where you've been.
Before she knew you,
when you were a child climbing branches,
when you reached the top of the oak tree and thought
you were on top of the world.
You sit down next to her,
touching the tip of her knee.
The golds and oranges are gone outside.
Now, there is green streaking the sky,
an ethereal moss of the heavens.
You both sit there,
staring out the window,
the door wide open,
waiting for the sun to set.