Add your thoughts here… (optional)

in the midst

This is the season of change. A season of abandon and retreat. A season of brilliance and muted tones. When I look out the window, I can see the leaves falling. They look like they’re dancing- pirouette, fuette, grand jete, piquee- floating through the dusty light unencumbered, in a freefall, buoyed by whisps of warm air. Making that jump into the unknown because they know that they must make room for spring, which will come.

Leaves pile up. There are people who come into the darkness of early morning and take them away. We’re left with mushy piles of indistinct brown in the misty dimness of dawn. The drains, once clogged, now flow freely, but the tiny bugs that created those piles, float about in puddles, abandoned, holding onto their musty secrets. If it wasn’t for those tiny creatures, we’d be buried in leaves, year after year. We’d make our…

View original post 329 more words


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s