someplace where it finally takes off its jacket and rests.
Where it gathers and sorts all the leaves and plastic bags it's collected,
where it reflects on all the people whose faces it brushed.
I wonder where that could be,
the edge of the world?
An inscalable mountaintop?
A vast cave that no man has seen the end of?
What a lonely and mystical place that would be;
like the Garden of Eden after all its inhabitants had been evicted.
Wherever that is I hate to think I might never see it,
but when I stand in the wind and see the fall leaves float listlessly on their way
I close my eyes and think about it;
the trees and I bow to your majesty,
your lonesome curse to sweep this earth of all its leaves and bags,
to live forever a brush away from the people you must ironically envy.
It's no wonder you punish those you love when you are angry,
I can only fathom the torture you must feel
when you spin whirlwinds around a little child and make them smile
only to realize how fleeting the moment is,
that they will never acknowledge you or thank you for that joy you gave them.
You and I are the same;
forced by fate to move ever forward
despite how desperately we cling to the moments of joy we try so hard to obtain.
I will try to meet you there,
one day when I am allowed to stop.
We'll take off our jackets together
and smile at all the things we've gathered along the way.
We'll joke about the difficult times
when it seemed like the constant whipping around would never end.
We'll sigh contentedly at the marks we've left on the earth
and at the fact that we no longer have to make them.
You and I,
one day;
but until then
I'll continue to be carried
by time and my own reluctant instinct to move forward
and stop to feel the wind brush my face when I can
and thank you.
