The tenderness of a fall breeze, the way it brushes past my cheek, running its soothing waves of waning life against my body.
The way the air takes my own away in consensual breaths of exhilaration and anticipation.
Oranges burn reds into ambers of light between branches and wrap the afternoon warmth in circles around its bark.
Falling, passing leaves, to the uneven earth in green frenzied fashion, knowing not where to go but what to do.
Aching with life to live and hours mocking to do so, lunging into time without fear, without poise, clumsily cautious but clamoring for something else.
Summer's arms are lowered and the shadow of the sun has cast a new season, when all begins to die, and nature mourns a visceral loss.
I found you amongst stifled buds and tortured late blooming flowers, when the moon seemed to almost catch the sun on its way to sleep.
Through slow moving clouds wishing for precision in their direction, but floating nonetheless as perfectly as they arrive, they leave.
I first saw you amid an evening as brisk as its soul old and wise, and there was a stillness in the way it all stopped, and you moved.
Somewhere between a crescent black sky and the quiet of the gray sidewalk lining my way home with ease and pleasure, the season knew to fall.
And as I turned and felt the breeze once again embrace my resolving being, I knew that because of you, I was home.
