Maybe it was the fall that left me feeling so resigned. The first leaves drifted down like ancient pixie dust, abandoned by all magic. Wind moved through the trees like a restless giant chasing summer, and I heard it whispering in my mind, something without words, something without form. I can't wrap my fingers around it, but I heard it. Felt it. Knew it.
Like it's time to leave Maggie Mae and get on back to school, but that is too many seasons behind me now. How many seasons do I have left? If I had to guess, how many? A dozen? Three dozen? Not forever, though. I'm young enough, I know, but I definitely don't feel a long life. Yet, however many seasons, it's too much time without you.
I sigh, and the wind sighs with me. I close my eyes and dream of paintbrushes and warm cups of cinnamon coffee. The trees are excited, and this comforts me.