Cool and crisp is the air to breathe.
Frail and colorful discarded leaves.
Autumn is quiet as November falls.
I hear this whisper as it calls.

I whisper back like a hidden friend behind a wall.
The wind picks up hushing my words.
It strolls away from our conversation and settles up above the palms.
I feel no need to feel the breeze, it's usually too intense.
Placing its disarrayed claws on others possessions and. Tossing them into the air. Like it has no regard for anyone. It doesn't care.
If this non visually materialized life form has no warmth or delightful scent of fresh lost yet familiar vision to bestow, then I just as well have no great bond to it and will go.
I feel alive and vibrant as the sun.
I am loved. I walk in the eclectic self knowledge of My Father and His Son.
I am the only soul I see. I am the only one.
November has fallen by the roadside but couldn't take my soul.
December prepares me. December is divine. December is Mine.