Breathless.

I have been rendered breathless by a view. It's like the cover of a children's book set in the country. I've just spent two hours frolicking barefoot through the apple orchard on top of a small mountain in my hometown. I can see acres and acres of fields below me, broken by the occasional patch of meadow, and a few white steeples poking out of the green. My face is alive with the sunlight. Gently humming and tingling as the frozen blood dances beneath my skin. My pockets, cleavage, and belly are bursting with stolen apples while the wind laughs forgivingly through my hair and skirt. The air smells sweet. I pity those who don't experience things like this. To never know the squeamish delight that one feels after squishing a rotten apple with ones toes...or the peace one feels when all that can be heard is the nervous rustling and fidgeting of the fall leaves.

These fragments make us alive.

We feel and change just like the seasons. We fall from trees and we bruise, and we hurt when we're plucked from home. But when we accept the fall, and believe in the spring...life keeps humming along.

Renewed and feeling strong...I head home.