I Love Autumn Leaves
The gentle wind churns the smell of a bonfire in the north. It brings the horn of a distant train and the whine of a law mower, harmonious despite their discordant keys. The sky is a blanket of the purest blue as the squirrels rustle and play amongst the newly fallen leaves. The air is cool and calming, rounding out the most storybook of days and yet... And yet...
A tiny bird flits before my still figure, unaware of my intrusion into the smallest of moments. Around me the last bits of Autumn cling to the hope of the spring to come. It is a most peaceful day echoing in the laughter of children as they emerge from their yellow bus. There is to be a parade in town tonight, the expectant afternoon is charged with all the anticipation this small town has to offer. And yet... And yet...
I know I should participate in this glorious day. I should stake out a piece of its tranquility for my own and yet I cannot. My dormant heart knows nothing of serenity and even the divinity of such a perfect day is lost to me. All I see in the sky is empty, haunting beauty. The chittering of the squirrels sounds like fear. Even the gentlest of winds sends shivers of longing through my bones.
I remember days like this. I remember being a part of the story, of being the laughter and the song of Autumn. But somewhere in between I have been lost to the heavy snows of years gone by. No, this day is better left to those of greener hearts and clearer minds.
A tiny bird flits before my still figure, unaware of my intrusion into the smallest of moments. Around me the last bits of Autumn cling to the hope of the spring to come. It is a most peaceful day echoing in the laughter of children as they emerge from their yellow bus. There is to be a parade in town tonight, the expectant afternoon is charged with all the anticipation this small town has to offer. And yet... And yet...
I know I should participate in this glorious day. I should stake out a piece of its tranquility for my own and yet I cannot. My dormant heart knows nothing of serenity and even the divinity of such a perfect day is lost to me. All I see in the sky is empty, haunting beauty. The chittering of the squirrels sounds like fear. Even the gentlest of winds sends shivers of longing through my bones.
I remember days like this. I remember being a part of the story, of being the laughter and the song of Autumn. But somewhere in between I have been lost to the heavy snows of years gone by. No, this day is better left to those of greener hearts and clearer minds.
