Falling Leaves

Walking outside, I woke and suddenly realized that the leaves were changing. No longer were they the deep vibrance of summer green, but the tips were morphing into orange and yellow. Eyes wide open, I looked to the ground and saw it covered with already fallen leaves.

And I wept. 

Tears filled my eyes and I cried for the death of summer love, my cheeks wet with the grief of all that is to come. Anxiety filled my heart as I looked to the sky and saw yet another leaf slowly drift through the wind and fall to the ground. I bent, picking it up as the first sob wracked my body. 

My hand closed without conscious thought and I held the crushed leaf tightly. This was the sign of future sorrow, as if the changing of the seasons has anything to do with the events of life. Within itself, the masterpiece of the wood during the season "Fall" is spectacular. If only the world lived in a continuous cycle of falling leaves. 

Mind racing, I close my eyes; skipping Fall and all of it's loveliness. In my mind's eye, I see the snowy gray skies and a casket. Gasping for breath, I see tears that will not be release, I see a girl fighting to cling to the rope of life. I see the depression of sunless days, I feel the ache of missing whom I had only the winter before last. 

I see Christmas and I see a New Year, both met with a sense of longing to be rid of this earth. I see the dead of winter, when hope is hardest to find and the easiest option would be to quit. All these things I revisit in mere seconds. The emotions I haven't felt in so long twist and wither within my soul with an intensity of pain doubled over. Tears have dried on my cheeks as I open my eyes. 

The sun fills my teary eyes, creating stars in my head. My eyes focus and I spin around. 

Around me are the colors, the signs of seasons changing. I grapple for any sense of control, but I find none. The weather is one thing I cannot control, no matter how much I attempt to. I am as out of control of my life as the lead in my hand, and that terrifies me. 

I open my hand, the pieces of leaf sitting in my crumpled palm. The wind takes them in a sudden gust and I watch until the sun catches my face once again. Slowly closing my eyes, I breath in, then out. 

What is the use of worrying about times and locations that I cannot control? What is the purpose of working myself up so much that I cannot function because of season? Does not my Father control the seasons, setting them as a comfort that no matter what happens the seasons will always be here? Does He not want me to enjoy the day I am in without worrying about the future? 

When next time a leaf falls from the trees on a different day, catching my scarf, I'll carefully lift it off and watch it catch flight. I dearly love Fall, the perfect weather, the colors, the tea, the scarves, the cuddling. 

The day is what it is, if I choose it to be so there is nothing that can bother my peace of mind. 

The End

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