Although the gently falling October leaves possessed a funereal nature and were majorly more reminiscent of death than of life, I nonetheless recognized them for what they genuinely represented: A rebirth! Because even though they heralded a heinous, seemingly endless winter still to come over the next five months, following that those leaves—or, more precisely, immediate descendants of the suicidal leaves parachuting onto my west lawn as I write this—will return in all their glory, fresher and sprightlier and more determined than ever—ready to grandiosely usher in a brand new season inextricably wed to a brand new batch of vernal dreams. Yes, a whole new batch of vernal dreams that will stretch well into summer before they too wither and dry up much like the cucumber vines and stalks of tangy rhubarb out in the back garden. Such is the undying rhythm of the four seasons, and such is the undying rhythm of life as well for all mortal creatures.
Fred's Soapbox 