Cuddled up in blue jacket, woolies and a sky-blue pashmina, I step out into the crisp autumn air. Brrr. It bites into my fingers and I shove my hands deep into my pockets. Tucking the scarf snug around my chin, I trudge on.
Clouds menacingly swirl about. Trees sway from side to side, shedding leaves at each bough (pun intended) and curtsy. Even birds are not taking a chance out in this gusty weather. Where are my feathered friends?
Bits of litter twirl in the air like little tornadoes having a field day. Garbage bins go bumpity-bump, window slats rattle and the wind howls creating a cacaphony of strange sounds. Chaos reigns.
I stop. Pause. Hesitatingly, I walk on; bracing myself against the force of the cold wind.
Leaves fall like confetti. Brown. Yellow. Orange. Russet. Bronze. Helter-skelter.
In front of me the noisy, rustling leaves form a carpet. But a little away from the madding crowd, a solitary sycamore leaf sits on the kerb. What beauty! It speaks. I listen…
“March on. Do not tarry. To go forward is to move toward perfection. March on, and fear not the thorns, or the sharp stones on life’s path.” Khalil Gibran
I march on.