The Narrative Of Existence

It is fall and it is lovely.                                                                                                                       The intense colours of trembling leaves, struggling, detaching,                                         gliding and intimately kissing the ground.                                                                           Moments blossom to re-write history and                                                                                     to reveal a kind of certainty that only the sacred                                                                             is qualified to define.                                                                                                                         And as everything departs, everything also returns                                                                       to a certain special place that our heart intimately knows from the beginning of time. Bittersweet existence, fragile, but immensely beautiful.

And then I looked at those dried wildflowers and roses on my table and the stack of books for a couple of minutes and I just know. They silently narrate the story.