Fall
Leaves today. I sweep leaves in our front yard. Yesterday, they were flowers. Small, tiny, should’ve been yellow flowers, enough to make a pretty carpet to cover the cracks on the haphazardly poured cement. But they’re brown. Sometimes, they are branches. Small or medium branches, enough to hurt you if you’re caught unaware that it’s their season to fall; the branches whipping your arm or smacking you on the head. At certain times of the year, right before the heavy rains, the fruits. They pound on the roof leaving me imagining they will crack a hole that would make the rains think they are welcome in my home. Until they cause a puddle. And then they all come-irritability, anger and the overall feeling of misery of how I can’t even keep dry inside my own house. The impact of the fruit smacking the ground with the force of how you would want to break something after a bad day causes the half-heart shaped, sour-sweet (yes, sour first) produce to crack open, enti...