​​​

​East Fork:

A Journal of the Arts​​


​Hiraeth​


A warm Autumn day

My usual tree stares me down,

         Challenging me.

Or maybe,


          Inviting me.

A lonely voice floats through the leaves


         Come here like you used to

Do I answer it or turn away?

I go to it then,

        And every day it calls me back,

Waiting once more for a warm embrace.

By Noah Bruce