A lone leaf drifts down from a tree, it's grassy greens given way to a fiery red. A swaying motion guides it away from the tree; and it's past life.
Upon resting in a lake of water it secretes chemicals, which are quickly dissolved into the water. Split up and separated it is sucked up into a vast collection of endless pipes and pumped to the populace.
There must be something in the water making me write a "Journal" every Autumn.
If I leave the plugs in my ears but don't listen to music, I can hear my blood flowing, flowing, flowing. Like light streams of water down a metal roof.
If I eat, I sleep. If I eat, I eat more.
I wish I had the