The air is warm, light, like cool drops of rain of my burning face. I stare at the horizon and try to think of something nice. Something good.
Something else.
In front of me lie miles and miles of land, green, orange and yellow, tinted with red sparks of autumn, a leaf dipped in flame. And like all leaves dipped in flame, it will shrivel up and die. Disappear.
Dust in the wind.
I wonder if my bones are heavier than ashes.
I wonder how light a body filled with so much guilt can be.
I feel heavier than the world, emptier than a black hole.
I feel nothing.
But I see.
I see autumn, a chameleon taking over the colours of dying summer and growing winter.
I watch, as branches stand strong, skeleton aiming for the sky when the leaves reach for the earth, growing bigger and stronger every year.
I wonder if trees know how incredible they are, offering a trampling for the birds to soar from, to rise into the translucent void.
I look up and the emptiness both frightens and excites me.
I wish I could get lost in it.
Then perhaps I could loose myself and forget… forget it all.