Ruska III

The breeze that brushes my face is undisciplined in happening. Cooling me, offering a touch of fall to my senses. The wind wishes only to pass through. My features are touched by chance, only by my intrusion into its path.

The weather has changed and darkness has fallen. At first, the slight change in temperature was not as telling as the dramatic shift to life now around freezing temperatures.
I wish only a warm breeze on a cool day only as I want a chilly gust on a fiery summer evening. It is hard to part with a season that brims with warmth into an arctic chill that encapsulates surroundings into distant objects. The chill isolates people. The cold air captures the young and old alike into shells that are unbreakable until the first leaves of spring and a turn in climate.

And so, it happens again. I find my glasses the only protection from the biting wind that wishes to bring cold tears to my eyes for the sake of the season. I intend to enjoy the fall and endure the winter. I have experienced this weather before but there is a renewed sense of novelty in this change year after year.

A falling leaf no longer clinging to hapless grief
released from branches that survive through snow
but delicate leaf, you are not strong; you are weak in your existence
we will admire your changes and praise your colorful ways
until the end of your days
when we shall wave goodbye
and walk away

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