Falling...

Colorful leaves are lining the sidewalks again. I cannot help the flood of memories that accompanies this season. It was then, when the earth was cold and dry and brown that our little green plant was given life, and began to grow. Against even the odds of the cold, darkening days, our little sprout blossomed lovely and hopeful, as if spring were already in it's branches.

We whispered words to each other, excited and full. We walked for miles, with the whole country between us, but we held each other's hearts so dearly near, that we were not alone. We said how if life would separate us, we would surely find each other again... Even if it meant living for years in a little hermit's shack... on a jagged coast. We said a great many precious things... We wrapped up our words in tenderness, and optimistic expectancy. We believed.

For whatever reason, it's falltime once more, and again, we're miles apart. As I look back on the sturdy shoot that began to grown, I feel it's roots, deeper in me, than I ever knew they could be. What is left of it then, besides these, and the memory of shimmering days? Is all that remains, a single falling fiery orange-red leaf? When it hits the ground, will it be buried, like all the rest? Perhaps our plant is tattered and dying, and turning all manner of colors like an autumn fire... I cannot say, and only the great Gardener knows. But I will say, that if it is, I have truly never seen a more beautiful fall-leaf, and have never know a deeper crimson hue.