The Grace of the World

                  It’s cold outside now. Autumn is in the air. The brisk winds have blown all but a few resolute leaves from the trees. The clouds overhead are thick and gray, giving no sign that the sun will ever show its self again. The rain that has been shed, onto the bare trees, now makes their way down, down, down, and onto my exposed skin and clothes. It is unrelenting and very, very cold; even when I have long brushed it away, I can still feel its bite.
               
                  In a sudden breeze, a few weakened, yellowed leaves flutter down. They have a certain sorrowful grace to them; it is like they release a little bit of sadness into the world every time their wretched from their beloved freedom in the sky and thrown to the cold, confining ground. The leaves that have already been imprisoned here are brown and dull; no longer cheerful and flippant in the sunny world that was their lives. Instead, they are bound to a gray and filtered place where they will never taste liveliness again. It is sad that the world most lose such beautiful things, just get covered in a glistening cloak of ice. But the thought, undeniable moves and morphs into thoughts of spring, and those, into thoughts of summer. Suddenly, a warmth that has no place in this season seeps through me and I can see this season with a new optimism. The leaves still seem sad as ever and the clouds are just as oppressing, but this, none of it, can last forever. Time changes everything, even if it takes awhile.