Autumn descends.
The fall.
November falls.
December rises.
Less sunshine.
More coldness.
In talks. In walks.
In memories. In contact.
That’s usual because it’s outside.
There is another fall.
Beyond November and December.
A fall that’s inside.
And cannot be seen among the fallen leaves.
But can be felt underfoot while walking on them.
In a dark park.
In solitude.
The fall.
That never falls.
Never has a falling.
Even when Spring arrives.
