When the wind blows

The moment I walk out of Rhoads, the cold replaces the warm. The wind blows right into my face, ruffles my hair and freezes my hand. Morning chill seems to wake me up stronger than coffee can. Putting my hands in the pockets, I walk around trying to find comfort in the cold.

Leaves fall. The wind seems a bit cruel and bitter. It takes away an uncountable number of leaves from a tree. Trees turn out to be even more vulnerable to the wind than I am. I look down to see the grass now covered with shades of autumn. Yellow, brown and red coat the green lawn with a sense of sadness. And I look up to realize a tree with two distinctively separated halves: one with and another without leaves. The direction of the wind seems to have left behind some trace of favoritism. The half facing Rhoads gets the luck and is still covered with leaves. The other half has been robbed completely, revealing thin bare branches of lines and curves. Yet, these branches do not need leaves to know they are still beautiful...

I wonder if the tree misses the leaves, if it misses the green, if it misses Spring… But I also know that the other leaves will soon fall away and after winter comes spring again and the tree will soon get a new coat. Seasons come in cycle while I grow up each day. I cannot be gone like those leaves while there is too much to see and too much to learn.