No. 4

No. 4

         Pressures grew gently on my chest, releasing an escaping breath. The smells of autumn rushed in with the crackling sound of leaves piling high upon the fading greenery of summer. Then came, with the gentle, growing murk, a shimmering of bonfires scenting the October air. A chandelier floated upwards as another half breath broke free. I remember a downward elevator that played a prelude, instead of the usual mindless hum, pulsing toward a sublime rest. With dimming light and growing cold, I am drifting to and from a world.