You Know Who You Are

Remember that scene in American Beauty, where the plastic bag is moved to joy by some inexplicable force?  It cavorts, tumbles, flips, its spirit unhampered by the dreary blight of its concrete stage.  It billows, bursting with whatever air it has found to breathe.  It spreads its crinkly petroleum wings, constrained as they are by unwieldy physics, and floats.  And flutters. It lands, vibrating gently.  But wait. There’s more, more gusts to ride, more bliss to find.  It dances down the street, and we are left strangely bereft.

The leaves on the running trail were inspired by a similar music today.  They twirled and twisted, whirling in the breeze, celebrating their one last flight before winter and ice and darkness descend.  They dropped only to flourish– once, twice, again–before collapsing, finally, to rest with their sisters.

Oh, to dance just so.  Simply because a bright yellow breath commands it.