(internet photo)

They come together two by two.
One arrives alone.
A pilgrimage to the mountains.

Hillside blazes yellow, orange and red,
leafy flames igniting trails high above the valley.
Footsteps crunch.
Laughter piggy backs on the wind.
Two ravens swoop in unison,
wing tips brushing conversations below.

Robust feasts surround
fermented offerings.
Drunk with stories, new and old,
words sway and wobble among the guests.

Log walls stand stone still.
Observing.
Mum to all.

In the morning
flowered china,
chipped and cracked,
holds warms muffins
and fresh fruit.

They depart, as they came,
in pairs, and one alone.
A simple reminder
that solitude does not have to mean
lonely.