Autumn came to me with all of his sorrow. That grass as golden and dry as a piece of lightly toasted bread. The leaves blown against a broken down old fence like piles of witch's dirty laundry.
The setting sun pushed long shadows at me, and pulled away the last of the warmth of the day.
Sometimes the air was a little brisk and whispered to me, "Time is lurching. Winter is upon you."
Sometimes it whispered, "Time is lurching. Life is upon you."
Like the witch's laundry that will enrich the soil, so this pain will enrich my soul.
