The rain is falling gently from the water-laden clouds hovering just above my head.  The misty drops caress the red, yellow and brown leaves preparing for the last step of a year-long cycle.  
The clouds, with their heavy burden of wetness are sinking lower and lower, and coming to rest on the tops of the mountains, obscuring them in a fluffy blanket of white and gray.  A high-blowing breeze makes them creep along the treetops lethargically, as if they just want to sit and doze for a while but are unable to refrain from carrying on.  
There is a chill in the autumn air.  All around me, smoke drifts lazily from chimneys and mixes with the low clouds.  The aroma of wood fires mingles with the freshness in the air.  
Soft, peaceful music drifts towards my ears and through my soul.  Its a beautiful day!

Within me are the makings of a perfect storm;  
tumultuous thoughts twist and tangle together with long-lost figments and fancies,
kicking up dust and stirring leaves long settled in my mind.
If I could but unleash the force of these imaginings and develop them into something tangible,
there may just happen to be a mind-storm of epic proportions.
Alas, as I place pen upon paper, all becomes calm.
My hand stays still as a statue.
Not one thought flutters.
Not one picture glimmers in the light of an idea.
Not one ink stroke does my pen produce.
Nothing at all.
The leaves settle once again.

I close my eyes, and I see you standing before me.
I reach out my hand to touch you.
Eyes and fingers trace every detail of your face, yet somehow, you remain a mystery.
We embrace; bodies together as one, cheek on cheek.
My arms encircle your neck, and yours wrap around my waist, yet I feel no warmth.
I feel nothing but longing.
You smile tenderly on me. I wonder, who are you?
You are an enigma.
So close I can almost touch you, but too far away to know you.
My eyes open; you fade away like a memory not yet revealed.

Outside, the air gets warmer; the sun shines again.
Inside feels as cold and dark as a stormy winter's night.
Outside, trees are budding, flowers are blooming, birds are singing; there is life all around.
Inside feels dead, dreary, desolate; but wait... Movement!
Turmoil. Confusion. Creativity colliding with concrete walls in heart and mind.
Must beak free; express tangibly.
Frustration builds as passions tarry behind steel doors.
Outside, spring is in the air, and creatures awake from slumber.
Inside, a bound heart cries out, "God save me!"

Voices; from the left and the right, pushing their way through my thoughts.
A plethora of tones, styles, and words; the resonance an incessant drone,
rising and falling in volume and intensity, punctuated by a laugh or exclamation.
Voices, male and female, blend together in harmony and dissonance.
Voices happy and sad, loud and soft.
No words to make out; just people talking, and talking endlessly.
A symphony performed by oblivious musicians.
People unmindful of all but those with whom their voices connect.
I stand, bid farewell to the cafe, and leave the voices behind.

Sun and rain, wind and snow
In the memory of trees
Long green grass grows far below
Branches moved by breeze
Flood and drought, fire and storm
Did these old boughs mar
These trees with time and trials formed
Lithe and strong, yet scarred
Branches stretching to the sky
Reaching for the sun
While far below the soil lie
Roots entwined as one
Birds on limbs and branches nest
Bees in hives abide
Squirrels in nooks and crannies rest
Hiding nuts inside
Hunts and wars, and lovers' trysts
Encounters more than these
From lifetimes past, do still exist
In the memory of trees