The chirping of the birds woke me up that morning, or so I thought until I looked over my window, fresh dry autumn leaves lay in the park, at a distance. Leaves that are fresh can they be called dry? I am not sure, but they were. Fresh dry leaves fall from above on the fresh grasses that are just watered.
My bare feet find their way in the soft grass where camouflaged laid a bruised overused football. I looked right and left, in search of any human presence, but nothing here was alive except the fresh grass and I.
I drew the football closer to me, juggling, shuffling, dribbling, letting it play all over my body. Little did I calculate that I was sharing its dirt and making it look more promising. While my fresh white jersey shared its warmth with the bruised ball, the ball turned out much decent looking.
It was a bruised ball, but the much air it contained was as fresh as a new. Unknowingly I caressed the ball while two pairs of eyes darted at me. I could feel a presence, so sharply I looked to my right and left only to find none. On a short note, I was crashed and I laid among the fresh dry leaves.
My muscles ached, but my mind was eager to know what fell from the sky. From the corners of my eyes, I could see a movement of a shadow just like mine.
She was there all along, watching the nimble me play to my heart's content, while she moved from one branch to another without causing much racket, such the leaves fell along her movement disguising her presence. She was holding on to the branch for a long time until it snapped and she lost her grip and she fell.
We spoke no words, we heard no voice. The wind blew harshly making the leaves sing a melody when her rough hair was a mess to look at. Among the dead, alive were the two souls and a field full of fresh grasses.
