five | november writes :: autumn falling/tuesday's notes

It is autumn. In the dark of my bedroom, in the deepest part of my sleep, I dream and dream again about about the street of my childhood and the piles of leaves I plowed through in the dying rays of the day. The way the air, crisp and cold met your face when you stepped outside and how the leaves that fell from the trees where but an echo, a lyrical prelude to the snow that would soon fall from the sky.

Fall and Winter always held hands in Colorado, they were bedmates, sharing October, fighting over November as if they were children. Eventually Autumn would bow her head and give way to the gales of Winter's wind and the gallons of snow of December.  However, these two seasons differ in the day to day, they always seemed to love the dance, the exchange that November brought.

In the dark of my bedroom I remember last November as well. The dark wind that echoed down the hallows of my heart. Somewhere in the night, one year ago, my mother's body let go and she passed on. And though I don't wish that she held on longer, I so wish I could have been with her more before she left us.

So in the dark, in this Autumn of falling, I dream about the ways I fall and fail. And I dream about the struggle, the bedfellows that Winter and Fall are. I dream of my childhood and I dream of the childhood of my own boys. And I dream of the days when I will reconcile the Fall and Winter of my soul and let fall, into the passing of dreams my own failures.

And amidst these ashes, there we will find hope, a phoenix rising in glorious song, the sweet cantor bellowing from our soul.

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 excuse the rambling.
 joining in with amanda and write alm for november-prompt-a-day. 
tomorrow's prompt is: regret(s) won't you join in?
 (I am also killing two birds with one stone and doubling up for my tuesday's notes)