Leaves and Words

Its autumn. Someone stopped in front of our house tonight to take a picture of our maple tree. I don't blame them. I stare at it every morning. Autumn takes your breath away with its beauty. Autumn rips your heart out with its dying. 

Its autumn. I can't remember how to write. The words die and the wind flings them out of reach. I run and chase them. Desperate. But when I finally catch them, they crumble in my grasp. 

And so I wait. "This is only a season." I say it a thousand times. The trees will bud again. I'll find new words. And this quiet, barren season will make the words and the leaves even sweeter when they return.