lemuren

Autumn. I miss laying on the dried grass in my favorite torn skirt, feeling the brittle leaves land on my face and the wind blow my hair every which way. I miss the giant invisible hands that shook the trees, menacing and frightening, but certain. Dependable. I miss having to spend all day, carefully raking up the leaves only to run and jump into my perfect pile, scattering them everywhere. I miss laughing, as I fell to the ground with them. I miss staring up at the towering red and orange trees and witnessing my own private vermilion ballet. They were all spinning, dancing, until finally they fell; landing gracefully on the ground, never aga