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Kate Wexell, United States

Autumn, the cordial clouds rippling across chilling winds:
wildflowers vanish in anticipation of snow,
Jack Frost carrying brush and bucket, layering vivacious iridescence
across arenaceous trunks and peacock fronds stemming from tender branches.
Winter. Summer. Beginning and end— filled with tranquil silence.
Draughts pierce noses and despoil buds peeking out of the soil.

I crave my home, my solace, my roseate sunsets
settling on moon-blanched cheeks. Bring me back,
my heart laments. Restore my haven, where my soul can rest.

Let me wander the cemetery of chicory:
timberlands of saffron petals on trees coinciding with sunlight,
lurking by the babbling brook who pours out symphonies in her laughter.
Day, descend into winter nighttime— ripe moon, ocean of constellations,
waves of snow crashing over ridges and spilling over the landscape.
— The painter’s mural is obstructed by alabaster effulgence—

Windows contradict darkness with amorous candles
luring faint spirits to light again.
simplicity.

The mind loses sight of the torch at dusk,
but the lost can be found.
Take me to the country where I belong,
filled with falling leaves and wild birdsong.

Kate Wexell is a student in the St. Louis Metropolitan Area, and works as a local piano teacher and staff writer for The Diversity Story online literary magazine. Her works have been featured in several contests, publications, and a poetry anthology. Along with writing, Kate plays multiple brass instruments, does competitive classical piano, and enjoys genealogy, horseback riding, and baking.