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Sunday, October 28


I am remembering -- laying here, my eyes closed, my skull resting on the wooden floor by gravity's demand -- the golden reflections of an autumn day, illuminated within the leaves of death. The leaves of dormant flowers, sleeping animals, cloudy skies obstructing the warm grasp of a sun that will surely lead to our demise. But mostly, the leaves of rebirth.

Because every cold day is followed by... Well, another cold one. And then another. And then a surprisingly warm afternoon, followed by, right when you're in the middle of a long walk, wearing a t-shirt and thin pants, a cold and bitter rain. Because this is Michigan. And you were asking for it, if we're going to be honest, you idealistic bastard.

But that's not the point. The point is, after all of those cold days, there are warm ones. Like the feeling of waking up to sunlight streaming through your windowpanes, a blanket curled around your satisfied body, lazy bones, warm toes. Spring is a bear hug from the person you love most in the world, upon entering the national flight terminal, spotting you, pausing only to take your luggage from your hands before swallowing you in his love. Spring is Mom's extra thin pizza straight out of the oven and into the hands of greedy children, their faces pointed upward, peering over the cold marble counter, eyes big with anticipation, mouths open with craving. Spring is the awakening of the soul of the earth. The awakening of the kindness of human beings. The awakening of the vast depths of the human heart.

And laying here, my eyes closed, my skull resting on the wooden floor, the golden reflections of an autumn day swimming through my head, I can't help but miss it already.

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