At the peak of autumn they took form and marvelous color. They fell from the trees, fluttering like a magical sign of good things to come. Now, beneath my feet they crunch, dissipating like the joy I felt for such a time of year.
I look up and see the warm sun staring back at me. Browning leaves should not be followed by warm weather.
Take me home where I am paralyzed by a chill. Take me home where things always make sense.