Pants vs. Fall(ing)

I can't even translate to English from my brain speak how much I truly love this time of year. There is something so earnestly delicate and fragile about fall that brings out the whimsy in me. I am currently on my rotational week off from job#1, and only doing a few hours here and there at job#2, which allows for mucho time spent sucking up all that October has to offer. As much as fall makes me miss the endless parade of beautiful red and gold and green of Ontario, Alberta has given it a bit of a run for it's money this year. And the words? The words just come.
We sit passively on open park benches, sipping cooled chai and spiced something or other. The ironic misspellings of names on the Starbucks cups. The wind here, in this city, in this moment, the wind is making movements all around. Flying leaves and rustled branches. It seems to know that things need to move. Leaves need to evacuate their previous home, so they may peel and pool at our feet. So we may move and peel and create orchestras of sound like children again, stomping in puddles and breaking the spines of all this carnage. There's something beautiful about all this death, this fall, this falling. There is something so still and peaceful wrapped up here. Crossing bridges with our hands tucked in pockets and smiles threatening to break at any moment from easy lips. And we'll form sentences that make no sense, but there's a sense of sensibility in all this. In this fall. In this falling.