It was a leaf.
One singular leaf.
And it fell.
Speaking only in a whisper as it went. Its last cry carried on the wind that took it from its place, its home. It was just the one leaf, falling through the breeze. Calling to me, warning me, as it did.
He is not the same.
That’s what the leaf said.
He is not who you think him to be.
Was the echo the wind gave. Words that spoke of fall, of seasons changing. Words that carried truth to them. A resounding, hollow ring.
I will tell you something that few know:
A forest on the verge of death can only speak truth. It has been that way since always. Since forever. An ancient law, as old and bright as the sun. Which is how I knew:
He was not who I thought he was. Continue reading “Cold Comes the Lie”
We were wolves, basking in the glow of the moonlight. Chasing autumn’s heels as winter froze our game. Hungry bellies that ached beneath the warmth of our fur, our smoking breaths, our hopeful howls. We huddled through the cold, cobbling warmth together with beating hearts and heated blood. When spring came, we were the first to greet it. Singing praises to the melting snow and the blooming life. All things renewed in our meadows, filling us to the brim with new scents, new trails. And we stayed through summer as well, panting through the sun’s burden of heat. Powering through so that we might blend with the colors of autumn once again.
We were wolves.
And things were beautiful.
It was not perfect.
It was not easy.
It was life.
And it was good.
We were wolves. Together under the gaze of the forgiving moon. Hidden along the trees’ shadows, watchful and hopeful with every passing season. Looking forward to the future together with our eyes looking past the skies.
Now I’m unsure.
The foreign scent brings me grief. Filling me to the brim with something akin to summer’s heat, yet, it leaves me empty like winter’s bared teeth. This strange, familiar shape I see…
This change brings a season I’ve never heard of before. Winds that jar my senses with the foreign scent it brings.
And I don’t know anymore.
If we are not wolves…
Who will we be? Continue reading “Forging Seasons”
It’s not that I’m afraid.
…really, I’m not.
It’s just that…
What happens if it doesn’t work? What happens if I fall and I don’t catch myself?
What happens if I jump, and don’t fly?
Continue reading “Flying, Falling, and The In-Between”
There is a time and a place for everything they say.
And, if that’s true, then the time and the place at which something happens is meaningful, has purpose. I don’t know if it’s because the stars align, or the moon gravitates to our souls, or if it’s because someone sneezed, and that sneeze was the most important exhale that humanity has ever heard. I have no idea why things are important, why they take place when they take place.
But they do take place, in times and at certain places, for a reason.
They’re oh-so important.
Things happen when they happen for a reason.
There is a reason. Continue reading “Facing Fall”
Crunching red underfoot. Hanging orange from above. The wind whispers chills into my veins, raises goosebumps on my skin with it’s secrets. The trees are naked, bare. Revealing that even nature has its weaknesses. Even nature needs to rest.
I love the fall.
The way the wind rises, and the trees burn without ash, and the air tingles with the chill.
For a season of dying, it’s all very lively. Filled with light, and color. Brings you an aching sort of melancholy. One that ends with a hope, and a bitter cold twist.
An ache you don’t want to ignore. Continue reading “Feeling Fall”
Not that that’s new.
I’ve fallen before.
Over stairs, and because of things in my way. I’ve fallen in love, and I fall in and out of line nearly every day.
But this time was something else.
This time was the time I understood what it meant to fall. The time where I got what it meant, in every sense of the word.
And I didn’t want to get back up.
That’s why falling is such a colossal thing. Why the term is used how it is.
Falling can mean stumbling. Can mean tripping. Getting back up in shame.
It might mean:
Never getting back up.
I didn’t get that.
Not until that day. Continue reading “Lion’s Pride”
Honestly, I have no idea how it came to this. One minute, I was looking into the well, commenting on the old rocks. The decrepit state the old well was in. How it used to be used so often, and now it sat abandoned. Condemned. People speculated that it was cursed even. That the waters never ended in the bottom.
Now I was hanging off the side. My hand gripping a loose rock as I fought off the notion of falling down. Of plummeting into the dark water.
Of never coming out again.
I don’t know how I got here.
I don’t know.
Continue reading “Victory Well”
Yesterday, the trees were red. Beautiful, vibrant red. Like a pastel painting.
Today, the trees are naked.
Completely and utterly naked.
Not a single red leaf is left.
Even if it is pretty inelegant of us to call this season fall, it makes sense. The most sense, actually. Because fall is the season where the leaves change. Where they wither. Where they die. It’s the place where the death of winter is blocked from touching the warmth of summer. Fall sets in and changes things, makes the transition, keeps the order. Where things fall in and out of place.
I’m no exception. Continue reading “Fall Beast”
I like fall the best. Which I know is very cliche. Especially of a female. But, fall is so pretty. So beautiful. Unique. Unlike spring, which is so ridiculously wild. So cramped with things bursting into being. No, spring was my least favorite. Fall is definitely the best. It brings about the time of the year.
When the leaves change colors and you know the year is about to end, it gives you that melancholy. That special feeling because you know that the year is about to die. Old things are falling away and new things are to come. The world seems so thin and frail in the fall. It forces you to appreciate what you have. Even the dying leaves. Fall is so wonderful, so colorful.
Because when something is about to die, like a year or leaves or even something like a relationship, it turns into something unrecognizable. It transforms. And it does it’s best to leave you with an impression. With everything in it’s power, it attempts to “wow” you, one last time. It does everything it can to get the message across.
That’s how I knew you were dying. Continue reading “Fall is Holding Fast”