I can hear the geese honking their way south with the warm summer air being pulled in their wake and the falling of colorful leaves pulling remorse out of me with the passing of another season.
The oak, the maple, the birch and the tamarack need rest after a summer of growth and they announce the onset of winter with a dazzling display of colors.
I ignore the future and relive the past by stomping down a trail littered with dry fallen leaves like my 8 year old self did seasons ago enjoying making as much noise with each step smiling as I go.
Like that 8 year old self I realize time is the only present not the future or the past.
Not being deliberate instead going with a feeling or a perception an expression of the ideometor phenomenon like what causes a Ouija board piece to move I roll in the leaves.
All thoughts of looking foolish or worries that my clothes will get dirty are no match for the pleasure that can be had from lying in a pile of leaves as the sun’s rays pass through my body.
The saying goes “time waits for no man” – I think it should go “no man waits for time.
