I have so many leaves in my head
but it's only my breath
blowing them around.
I undergo the Sisyphean task of organising them into
neat piles. Sometimes I waste time
piling reds with reds and yellows with yellows.
But what's the point? It's a windy day and things are unsettled.
Restless leaves wrestling the wind again.
I wish I could see it as a dance or a ritual
but dances have an end and rituals have rules.
The wind is relentless and never surrenders.
We are both waiting for the Winter to come.
When time freezes and ends the vibrant frenzy in one huffing breath, extinguishing the autumnal fire.
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