Golden October

Golden October brings leaves falling effortlessly like whispers to the earth. Dry from baking in the sun, brittle, as Summer turns to Fall. Fire hot yellow bleeds into burnt orange, blood red to rusty brown and some remain evergreen. A warm afternoon, a moment stolen in its golden light.

The sound of small birds discussing plans for winter in the distance, the soft breeze blowing through the remaining tired leaves that are grasping on to the skinny branches of the old trees, seemingly wanting only more time in the fading autumn sun.

The faint sounds from the school children far off in the distance brings memories rushing. Warm skin stung by summers last kiss of heat, the fading waves of the crackle of leaves coming and going, rolling in and out in corners, on the street, in the yard, all around.

This moment is simple and a touch of sorrow settles within me. But the moment is beautiful too and with no words nature gently retells me the story of my past, whispers from the wind, as comforting as old friends, and yet this moment has never happened before. Inhaling the present and exhaling age, my eyes close and I am momentarily still, forever lost in this moment, somewhere in the back of my mind.

The Late Summer’s Sun

The summer’s sun waxes and wanes in the late afternoon sky. Brown leaves fall and tumble in the growing afternoon breeze. The smell of autumn approaches while still the hint of summer heat lingers.

I walk slowly down the city street, along the park, where the faint sound of children laughing blends effortlessly with the sound of leaves falling and tumbling down the sidewalk. The tink from a metal bat swung on the diamond nearby echoes in the air and reminds me of my youth.

I stop, close my eyes and turn my face up towards the gentle, warm, autumn sun. I inhale the thought of youth and exhale, for a moment, the pressures of adulthood.

When my eyes open, I feel calm. The sun filters through the months of summer dirt that has gathered on the streets and circulates all around me on unseen wings. And it occurs to me how quickly life passes.

One moment you are seven, running in the park, chasing a soccer ball, that is your only goal in life – you blink and somehow years have passed and the pressures that only come with age are upon you, yet still you feel, in your mind, like that seven-year old kid, only older, more tired.

I notice now that I am smiling a small smile from deep within and as I gently exhale I see time, not as years lived but as small moments remembered. I think to myself that without memory, time does not exist.