A late autumn afternoon and I watch carelessly, each leaf falling from the maple tree that stands in my front yard. As the leaves float ever so gently, looking for a place to call home, the wind has other ideas, sending each into the distant grey sky and out of my sight, only to become a memory.

During these times of solitude, I often think of my own sanity, wondering if it’s waiting for those western winds to blow. For there always seems to be that dark storm on the horizon, staring me in the face, reminding me over and over again, that it will be here soon, only once more to never show.

The anticipation that awaits me on each rise of the sun, drowns my poor mind with unfiltered anxiety. It grows to be an irritable beast. And I recall the leaves, those weary leaves, flying away in peace, as if they were beautiful doves, each so carefree.

If I were to let the storms roll through, taking my sanity, carrying it away from me, would I also not be as free? It’s at this point that I realize— those storms in the distance, they have already passed, leaving behind one remnant, that only remnant being my tattered soul.