I walked today in the woods, and breathed in the fall and felt it reach every corner of my soul. I breathed it in like one inhales the scent of a wild rose, or the perfume of a lover. I breathed in the air, the autumn smell, and I breathed in the colors that were painted on the canvas of trees that surrounded me. I watched the mirror of water reflect the fire of orange, yellow and gold, completely undisturbed, not a ripple. A perfect reflection of what is. And so I sat in silence revelling in a perfect reflection of what is. Perfection is not perfect, and neither are we, but what is, IS perfect, and changing and evolving, from Winter to Fall. We knew nothing in the winter of our lives, other than the mystery, other than just knowing that the other was out there somewhere. The days were short, and the dream filled nights long. We lived carelessly and young and naively in the Spring and love bloomed like lilies. And in the  Summer, we had long, long days. We lived, and grew and explored, we weathered droughts, when the water of our lives was nowhere to be found, and here in the Fall, the leaves glow fiery, like the embers of passion. They fall, slowly dancing in a graceful waltz of love, timeless and wizened and returning to the Earth. To the beginning.