It’s only in autumn that I sometimes confuse birds in the sky with falling leaves. A leaf touches my hair, my cheek, another falls right in front of me. Though falling doesn’t seem like the right word, it’s more like dancing, floating elegantly. A joyful, unpredictable flight through the sky. Almost as if in this one moment of moving from the height of the tree to the crowded floor their whole life happens. As if they were made for that one flight. The tree their mother birthing them, the ground their final resting place.
Amazing how the road to death can be so beautiful and so colorful.