Diana Vitantonio

I'm a storyteller. This is the home for my writings


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The change in weather 

was expected. 

It was that time

 of year. 

The leaves had been 

changing colors 

for weeks now

 and loosening

 their grip

 to the branches

 that held them

tight all summer long.

"You can let go too,

" I heard whispering inside my ears.

It was my mother's voice. 

The one I couldn't hear

 back in Ohio. 

I wonder why 

she stayed so quiet there, 

or why the weather couldn't have been different. 

I wonder how many times I will need to forgive myself 

for making my mother cry.

I also wonder if I will always think of this October 

as the year we fell down. 

I will never forget that day

or the day after. 

The air was crisp and the wind was turned up

as if she needed to change her landscape.

These winds of change were quick and strong, 

yet they were light. 

I could hear the wind chimes singing their songs with 

each gust of wind

and  feeling the rebound

from the notes as 

they washed over my body. 

I started to get cold but I didn't move. 

I needed to feel

 these exhales from the sky.

She was giving me strength 

for what was to come. 

I brushed my fingers over your cheeks

 for the last time that night. 

This was a year of fires.

It was the year of the drought.

Everything dried up.

And the morning after you left,

it began to rain.