Faded Denim

The wind was changing again
I had walked towards him,
Sitting, in jeans and an old grey shirt
Unaware
Of the trees adorned in fall's colors
And the distant memory three feet away from him

I stopped short
I could already see his face
The handsome vigor within prominent features
I looked around.
Time had raced on, abandoning things
Iron grey and rusty
Old statues standing in empty water fountains

Such a deep contrast to the lovely golden orange
Or was it a compliment
That all things old and dead were
Being showered with leaves
From last spring?
Leaves that were once alive themselves?

Then the dreaded question
Had I faded from his memory?

Before I knew it, he was standing
Holding a beloved hat in one hand
The other a closed fist, thinking
I could see it.

My heart raced
Like before, at a glimpse of him
A squall of wind kept me from leaving
His arm stretched out, wrist upturned
To the sky

And from his hand came ashes
Swept up by the wind.
Before he turned around,
I had made up my mind.
Somehow, the ashes were more
Beautiful than autumn.