Fall On Me.

We have waited for Autumn forever. Survived the dog days, the crisp grass, the dry, dry heat. The cones release their seeds. They have help. Once freed they fall, winged, spiraling towards the forest floor a long, long, long way down. The rains call out the bird's nest fungus and the unfurling of the forest floor. What's been stored within us, a hope we've clung to, reverses itself, spins and nestles in for winter.