Day 25

September basks the hues of the cherry plum tree with a golden wash, awakening the crimson tides of chlorophyll infusing each leaf with a brilliant demise. Do we not really live until we feel the rising of truth spread to the far reaches of our extremities, our bodies awash in the revelation of peace, knowing this death, our death, is only temporary? That we, too, shall return after the long, cold winter?