Now untethered and uncommitted,

Drifting through fall’s chilling air,

Quieting down on browning grass,

Relieved of duties,

Free of cares,

Once a part of some great plumage

Sharpened to a pointed quill,

Dipping lightly in the inkwell,

Settling a lover’s quarrel,

The afterthought in an old fedora

Or shoved into a pillow case,

We’ve served our purpose you and I.

We now retire.

We slow our pace.

Floating, meandering ever downward,

Colors faded and edges frayed,

We succumb to the hillside.

We settle into this last phase.