The wind blows through my hair on a sunny autumn evening


The maple tree is distraught with the loss of its leaves


The leaves, only a pigment of my imagination


I shift my standing position and take a step


I feel a soft substance under my boot

Ice cream, I hope, but I would not know


Whatever the substance, I feel the urge to wipe it off


Grass is present a few feet away to do the job


It is so; it tickles the hair on my legs


While walking down the street on a very busy day


A man rushes past me, lost in his own world


My guide runs off in distraction 


It feels like slow motion as I fall to the ground


The ground, hard, bruising my skin


I am lost in direction


I wish this did not happen to me


But this is the only way it can be


For I cannot see