The path was strewn with fall leaves, and I shuffled through them, holding S.M.’s hand. A breeze scurried through the trees, shaking their dead leaves to the ground, and I kept thinking of each leaf as a fallen dream.
A leaf falls to the ground, like a dream dying, but then spring comes and a new dream is born.
May you find new hope this fall, not just new dreams.
And if you need someone to talk to, please email me. I’d be happy to listen.