Off the beaten path

Where the sweet smell of decay

Wafted up

Towards the slate grey autumn sky

The Traveler kicked the recent living

And newly dead leaves

Across where his sinking footprints had marked

The murky earth below

In a few weeks this evidence would be consumed

And lost forever

As his latest was now

Flaxen hair had gripped the leaves

In moments on the ground

Grasping and clinging long after

The soil settled back over

Where his footprints were erased