wet leaves. quiet stereo. summer turned fall on the long way home. tape deck lessons, windows to another time. stress aside, today i feel just fine. late november, the crisp smell of another coming winter -- in as sharp as listerine and out like a cumulus. thick, evaporating, hardly there.
i want love like fresh air to leaves. found life and death to be still pond and setting sun, mirrored and reflecting. the big dreams, slight of syntax in collegiate speak, don't speak so loud anymore. but the trees here before and after and the going nowhere, the nothing. who knew.