Leaves turned down, as if they were stretching to meet the ground before their time to fall. Dressed in an array of bright oranges, yellows, and reds, they prepared for their final journey. To meet their fellow comrades already laying in various colorful piles, on the concrete or grass, some in the damp street floating in puddles. Strange that they seem so eager to let go of the tree, of the only home they have ever known, to leap into the end. Then I paused, and looking around, I saw what they were. The trees were tired, and empty. Bird nests abandoned in their branches, beaten by the wind that accompanied the frigid rain storms that had been visiting the area for the last month. They were ready for a long rest, no longer a welcoming home for the leaves that graced their branches. The leaves would move on, away from the tree that no longer had a place for them. Clouds hung heavy with precipitation in the sky, slipping through to choke out the few rays of sunlight that remained on the cold, gray day. It seemed as if they too were ready to let go, to release what they had been carrying, meticulously building up inside themselves. The wind hurried them along, but they stubbornly rolled through at their own pace, as though just to spite it. I wandered further down the street, looking at what was around me and wondering when the rest would let go. 

Published by MonicaCanSmile

Currently searching for my happy place while absorbing knowledge everywhere I go, taking pride in being a voracious reader and a prolific rambler, and spending my days teaching my daughters about words and value. Always trying to keep in mind, "Lesser People Have Done Harder Things..."

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