Looking out of the window I see the leaves fall off the old oak tree in my garden. Where all else is new and bright the oak is old and tired. Its trunk is bent tiredly, like the back of an old man. Its bark is shriveled like the old mans skin. A leaf, a brilliant shade of orange and red detaches from its branch. It is pulled away from its home, its birth place, by the impeccable pull of the ground, of gravity, which in the end makes us all fall. It has a steady path for a few seconds, before a gentle puff of wind pushes it out of its path. The leaf sways to the rhythm of the winds dance, tracing our lives like Tinkerbell on Hook's map. We move out from childhood, falling, forever falling, changing, as the leaf crumples, changed by obstacles like the wind. Our path is dictated by the wind, which in some small way is dictated by other leaves, or people. The wind whispers and howls alternately, and as I stand outside on the roof, hair is whipped everywhere in all directions, my shirt flies up, slightly unbuttoned, rumpled and old. I close my eyes, for once uncaring of my state of presentation. In my head all is noisy. Guitars and drums, screaming, shouting, thunder, planes, violence, guns, bombs. Unending pain. In the middle of the screaming and the whispers, I hear something thin. When I say thin, I mean sharp, piercing, while all the rest is thick, undirected and chunky. For a second, my mind zooms out, and I see someone looking at me, as if I am insane, as if I am drunk. Well, intoxicated I am, but not by what convention says. I smile politely and stalk away, ignoring, not knowing, what the person just asked. I am silent, not because I am dumb. I am silent because I am numb. Interestingly enough, that rhymed.
I am lost. I am a leaf blown in the wind.
Not like expected, cuz I forgot what I expected, and only know it's not this. It's not too bad. I own no one. REVIEW!!
Love,
Lady Merlin.