Children play and they believe this is the way it’s supposed to be.  The green leaves now brown, autumn air all around.

Tiny bugs in the trees make noises in the day, when in the summer they were loud only as you lay.
Cars **** past the damp road, on their way to God-knows-where, bringing tidings of whatever’s in their passenger chair.

Final thoughts like explosions rock through all of our heads, leaving all of us alive and all of us for dead.