Change
I balance my foot in the center of the rocking boat.
Around me, pinecones and sap waft their sweet and spikey aroma throughout the air.
I throw the orange vest over my pudgy bun, and grab the wooden stick at my side, whose purpose is to propel my reflection in the water.
Push. Pull. Push. Pull.
I take off into the mirror of glass crashing and smashing it as I trudge along.
I look to the left and see the green leaves of summer tumbling and slowly, slowly dancing to the ground.
I look to my right and the foliage of fall is blossoming on the treetops.
If the leaves know their purpose and when their time is to push on and when to give up, shouldn't I too?
I'm caught in the middle of two seasons, which so happen to be the middle of my life.
I close my eyes and imagine my path.
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