The Autumn Sisters

More about The Autumn Sisters

They do not face each other.
Sisters rarely must.

One listens to the past
the way autumn listens to fire,
without fear,
without asking it to stay.

The other gathers what is falling,
leaf by leaf,
as if memory were fragile enough
to bruise in her palm.

Between them, a city inhales.
Towers soften.
Lanterns learn patience.

They were born of the same silence
but taught different songs by time.

One becomes walking.
One becomes waiting.

And the wind,
faithful, invisible,
touches them both
and calls it love.