Itchy tree fingers whirlwind around as if a flock of birds had flown, these leaves, these leaves won’t leave me be.
reds yellows oranges greens and browns float in a vortex around me like a contestant in a game show, designed to be snatched from mid air and spent on bills and a clandestine amphetamine.
Oh Vast Universe, what is this supposed to mean? Is it an omen for an event that can be blown drastically outta proportion by the both of us
or is it supposed to be like a warm hug from an excited child, aggressively innocent, without a trace of malice?
Emotions are funny that way. When you step back and look at them from afar they become distorted, funky grey clouds mixing & smogging up to look the same.
What is there to gain? Am I not supposed to acknowledge the tree digits tickling my nose and crunching my steps? Or accept this as a gift from Mother Earth for what is sure to bloom into a superpower for elemental manipulation?
Love and Happiness or else a conquer & divide?
Such is life