Just breathe.

Let the crisp air enter your lungs. It may be biting, but it awakens you.

The autumn leaves in display, each one teetering through the air, a silent dance to the death as they fall to the ground.

The colors, the crunch. Fall tempts you to believe in the beauty of death. The flash of one’s life: vivid, messy, and swift before a graceful decent.

Yet, that is no longer the faith I cling to as I watch the children laughing, their joy in frolicking among the fallen. The death I know is not of a red, a yellow, or an orange. The journey to the ground is not silent.

Death does not heed to the notion ‘just breathe’. Death does slowly come and swiftly go, each breath giving way to a hollow gurgle. For the Death I know wears the color indigo.