The Nature of my Spirit

A light rain falls. It wets my hair, though the hood of my sweatshirt supposedly protects it. I walk along a darkened lane between the headstones; never frightening, they now generate a certain friendliness as they signify that I am almost home. The rain falls a little heavier, knocking the autumn leaves to the ground. Brown, orange, red: any number of variances of these colors swirl around me, leaving me feeling vaguely like one of them. Is this an omen of falling...or failing?

Darkness is complete, above and around me. The misty lights of electric torches shine weakly on the many-times crunched leaves beneath my own feet. I see some kind of symbolism in this, though I do not recognize it. But for some reason, an alien thing inside me awakens, though it never sleeps for long. Tears well up in the corners of my eyes, though I mightily try to hold them back. The fresh rain mixes with the salty tears streaming down my cheeks that have no origin or purpose.

Such is the nature of my spirit these days.