An Autumn Fall

I sat down and closed my eyes.  After a moment, I could hear the water lapping onto the shore in an even rhythm.  In the distance, a flock of birds took wing in a sudden, violent flutter. The rapid percussion of wings grew more and more faint as they ascended. The tree limbs creaked, and the grass hissed as the wind cut a swathe through it.  The shrill call of a bird echoed in the distance, like a single, lonely string of a violin.

It was as if these sounds had never existed, and I was hearing them for the first time.  They had existed, though.  They had existed before the grinding of cogs, the shuffle of papers, the intrusive crescendo of bells and horns, and the hectic pounding of feet on the pavement.  These things had muffled nature''s pulse, but it was there, strong and steady.

I opened my eyes, wincing at the sudden influx of light.  Every bland earthen color radiated. Greens and blues were deeper and more vibrant than I could ever recall.  The landscape teemed with colors, the likes of which had never been contrived on an artist''s pallet.

I leaned back on my elbows and watched the clouds drift by languidly. I tried to imagine myself walking their soft edges, and climbing their billowy peaks.  Their lazy pace seemed to mock our own frantic scrambling.  They had no regard for destination, no obligation, except to drift.

I looked across the meadow.  There were a few students who appeared troubled by the assignment.  They looked worried that there would be some ensuing exam or writing assignment.