The Falling

This morning’s sun is strong enough to warm my face and permeate my closed eyelids so all I see is gold. Small sounds sprinkle through the fallen leaves. I think at first, small critters.

Too delicate. Sounds more like fairies.

I open my eyes.  It’s the falling. The actual falling. As the golden autumn light pours through the sweet gum, gentle stars are coming unhinged. Scores of leaves descend around me.

The falling is quiet. Easily unnoticed until I choose nature.

A small wind curls through and carries me to the enchanted forest I have imagined since childhood, a gilded autumn place with a singular cabin, firewood stacked outside, and fairies with acorn caps in every corner to keep me safe.

This is magical.

All I did was stop to listen and see.

I am here for the falling. And in this moment, I am certain that this shining, drifting, rustling gentleness is infinite. Leaves will fall and fall from an endless reservoir of stars. The arms of each tree will shed, yet remain ever full of gold and light.