I found myself rather transfixed by the streaming water and its leaves, urgently spinning down past the bus stop to the tiny curbside river that ushered them down the street, to the corner and it’s sewer drain. Oh leaves, I thought, you spend all that time fluttering in the wind and now you’ve been charmed by those rushing waters, seeming so out of place on an awful gray street corner, never knowing you probably won’t see the sky again.

Some days I like being on my tree, but some days I feel as though I’d gladly fall into any rainy stream that would take me.