This time last year I was watching the trees fall from a different window. The bed at the perfect level to harness in on that millisecond and memorize the moments from branch to bottom. I'd think "This is how you fall" snuggling up to the one I was falling for.
This year, instead, I'm starting to hate it. The painful transition from sweaty summers to white winters; Mother Nature's stretched too thin. She prefers Florida's lack of seasons. Consistency. When the door opens to that first gust of wind on cruel mornings, I'd once taken my largest breath, filling my lungs with apple cores and nutmeg. These days I can only shut my eyes. It's painful now, the cold. Like falling.
When I was young and determined to enjoy roller coasters, like all the other kids, my mother used to tell me that all I had to do was shut my eyes and it would soon be over. Now with my stomach in perpetual knots, I wait for the plunge and, I can't help but think about that millisecond when the leaves begin to fall.
I wonder if it would be better to save them, than wait for rakes to make sad statistics out of sap and crinkly cut summers. Do you think trees hurt when their leaves fall?
No more than this. No more than us. No more than that millisecond before and every second after.
This is Me:
My name's Melissa. I'm the girl with her hands in her journal.