her mind has taken the place of leaves

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her mind has taken the place of leaves

each spring as the sun melts the remnants of winter’s last storm

a budding thought trickles in

sprouting greener than any other

in the summer that thought flourishes

soaking up the sun

and providing a cool place

for others to lay

but as the heat grows

those leaves dry and become brittle

she doesn’t mind

because she loves the reds, oranges, and yellows

in fact

she can’t think of anything she loves mind

when finally short days are followed by cool nights

and the wind knocks loose the leaves

her mind rests peacefully

knowing this is the process she must endure


the clock on the wall

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the clock on the wall

tick tocks

tick tocks


the lead of a pencil

scratches the paper

in swift curvy motions


a leaf falls

swirling down from its tree

landing gently on the dying grass


a knock knock knock

is heard from the foyer

a door opens and then shuts


we wait

observing these endless moments of life

moments that have become part of our daily lives


we wait

though we aren’t always sure why

we do it anyways

the flicker of light from the fire

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the flicker of light from the fire

converses with the colors of fall

strewn about the frail

crisp surface

a soft glow appears in its center

veins acting as pathways

guiding the light and the yellows and oranges


in some places

the light is blocked by its curves

casting shadows on the colorful surface

next to the fire these spots appear burnt


that at the slightest touch or gust of wind

they will crumble

sprinkle to the ground

becoming nothing more than the particles

that make up the dirt

trampled everyday by those larger than it


red veins jut out of the tender, living flesh

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red veins jut out of the tender, living flesh

covering its pale surface

connecting it

creating a map


drops of water sit scarcely on the surface

but one acts as an outcast

it inches slowly along

following the curvature of the veins

soon it will roll off

creating a splash as it lands in the moist dirt

several feet below


as the just risen sun lands on its wet, pale surface

nothing is more natural

more beautifully simple