I was breathing deeply. I was gazing at golden leaf piles. I was spooning warm stew. I was creating a masterpiece of September muses and then, as quick as the chill in the air after equinox annexation, I was drowning. I felt the burden of breathing grow heavier than my will to exist. My shoulders lurched in a battle for balance but their frantic efforts were all for naught. There is nothing to be done but wait. Throat, lips, nose, and temples throbbing from the toxic secretions that streamed from my scorched eyes as I wailed and no one heard me. Does any of it matter if no one is there to see? The energy eroded from my body exuded into this emptying of excruciating emotion. What is the meaning? Why does it happen to me? What and why am I grieving? Whatever and why-ever, it has stolen the reigns of my peace of mind. I searched for the seed that must have been sowed in my stormy soul so I could heal it, but instead I found thousands and thousands of zombified roots crawling to the surface, trickling around my life, overwhelming my being and strangling my lungs as I gasped through the pain of my poisonous teardrop tsunami. The next moment I am lighting a cinnamon candle. I am buried in a blanket. I am cuddling close to my lover conversing about pumpkins and black cats, and Halloween costumes, and blossoming, brilliant color-scapes amber to scarlet to rust brown crinkles beneath our soles and I look him right in the eyes and admit, “There is nothing more beautiful on this Earth than Autumn.”
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