Autumn is my favorite season. I love the way that it clings to the daylight like a desperate lover. It walks the edge, one foot in the grave. The whole world is dying and only a few leaves notice at first. But then, they fall. They fall like each of us will one day, to the dirt to decay, to fade and feed the next oblivious being. The grey skies and dimly lit dusk that never seem to recede give me hope that the rain will wash this all away, cleanse this putrid skin I wear. It gives a hope that the trees which turn to fire overnight aren’t burning down but becoming beacons of brilliant flame lighting the way back into the desolation of our earthen womb. The dirt will swallow us whole the same way it spit us out. And as the chill wind of fall brushes my spine like an unexpected whisper, I am reminded once again just how desperate this lover can be.