Drifting off to sleep,

Drifting off to dream.

Drifting through a lazy day.

Drifting through most days.

The world drifts by.

People drift in and out of my life.

Memories drift through my mind,

Each one tempered, shaped and colored

By where I am in the stream.

And where I’ve been.

Memory is never exact.

Each memory is a filtered picture of a tiny slice of reality

That drifted by too smoothly and quickly to comprehend.

“Through a glass, darkly” as a better writer said.

I saw leaves turn golden in the rays of a

Setting sun


As I drifted by in a car.

The image struck me.

But it’s only given meaning and

Lasting beauty upon reflection;

When it’s tied to thoughts and images that have drifted through previously.

My golden leaves will never be your golden leaves.

The leaves were there

But I could only see them through my eyes.

The leaves are still there,

In that moment,

But I’ve drifted by.


Drifting in my sleep,

Drifting in my dream.


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