Fall

There is a full moon tonight. The leaves are dancing along the neighborhood curbs, settling only until the next car glides past. The scattered street lights give a glistening brilliance to the wet pavement, taking help from the moon’s dispersed glow. Stillness lingers in the air after an afternoon of whisking winds—people today had been pushed along the streets and carried along their routes—legs and feet were merely commodities, tools to be dictated by the October wind. Stillness now though—a time for man and nature to square the day and breath again. A moment of life so fragile in its perfection that one screech of tires, one dip in temperature, one gust of wind would reveal the cold inevitability of such a moment—its stubborn fate to die. As the moment lingers however, a perfect fall night is realized.

The sun shone today—the clear sky acted like an open window welcoming crystals of light which rode in on the cold autumn winds. The two are never apart this time of year. The sun always shines on white-breathed people, bundled in their scarves and hats, praising the sun and cursing the bracing cold. Rain, curiously, would warm them, though they would curse that too. It is a grasping after summer which only ends in a fistful of wind and rain—a winter victory fought in the battlefield of fall.