The autumn skies rang out with copper and gold,
Chimes to the ears of a traveler in lieu of a journey.
The steps taken were thick with resounding purpose,
A stroke of genius for the blatant wind to follow.
Every turn or change in direction from the start
Held a luscious thrill, for it was a rash decision
That such an anxious person was meant to make.
There existed no weary bone to slow the heart
Set on reaching that evening sky of copper and gold.