ashena's Journal

I gaze out my frosted window at the blood-veined Scarlet Maple majestically framed by a grey, shadowy sky murky with autumn’s freezing rain.

Who am I to say when it’s time to die?

The earth fades in the distance as the leaves turn from blood to gold-

Devolving then from gold to dust.

Before my eyes-

they fall cyclical in their flight.

Weaving through the diaphanous air like Luna moths

swirling heaven bound through misted clouds towards the beckoning moon.