A Trip Down Farcaster Lane

we took a drive down the Blue Ridge Parkway

rolled down the window and

endless streams of molten treetops

your hand in mine, the world a canvas

painted in amber and gold, fleeting warmth

as a lone, crunchy leaf danced in,

interrupting our silence—

a fragile intruder from an autumn long past

the chill of the coming winter whispered

of times gone by and the silence between us

that spoke louder than words ever could.

AI-generated art, edited in Photomosh

Heart-generated poem

Listening to: Mates of State