The Wind Knows
One day, I will become yet another leaf upon the ground.
The tree does not want the Summer to pass. The leaf holds on lest it die in the breeze of Winter. The wind, though, holds secrets neither of them know, and when it’s time there is no stopping the Autumn’s curse.
The trails of our lives are littered with the remnants of seasons passed. The moments lost and forgotten rustle beneath the feet of those who travel. The sound of life’s destruction echoes as we walk, sometimes becoming nothing more than noise to be ignored. We forget that it is from dust we were spawned and to such refuse we shall return.
The forest screams reminders meant to shake us from our indignation. We just cannot hear. We are too lost in our insanity.
Hearts hope, even pray, for the flower that rises from the mess. Those of us left scarred by battles waged search aimlessly for the petals that sway gently in the breeze. We seek the scent of what can hide the rotting stench of life’s broken dreams. Even when we find such beauty, we fear it is too fragile to handle our rough embrace. We walk away, not realizing the reality of love’s potential.
The Spring offers us such promise. In the Summer we forget the clime will change and thus suffer in the breeze of Autumn. We wish our life to be renewed, but that wind knows it’s certain truth. There is no stopping the Seasons we are blessed to see, and as our souls freeze in the grasp of Winter, we are left uncertain that we will ever see the Spring again.
The old who suffer in the dance with Autumn know that which the young in Spring have yet to find. Life, it’s priceless gift to all who live it, is nothing without its truth. Life should not be wasted nor should it be tossed aside with abandon. When the winds of Autumn come, the wise realize life’s fleeting promise. For some, the realization comes too late; for a few it comes in the nick of time. Yet when the air grows cold and the branches go bare, all seem to search for some warmth in the wind.
I pray, as I feel the Autumn touch my face, that I have more time. I see the end of the path before me, though I cannot tell how far ahead it lays. Around me are those crumbling leaves, little curses that chastise me in my failures, and I cannot escape this truth.
The truth is that I will grasp this tree as long as I can, and pray the tree embraces me as well. We both know, however, that the wind will know when it’s time, and I will become yet another leaf upon the ground.
