27 March 2006
And then there is that day when all around, all around you hear the rain beating the petals, one by one, from the dogwoods. At first it is one here and one there, and then it is two and then it is five and then eight and thirty, until all the petals blow fiercely in the wind, plummet with the rain, fall like down feathers to the soft surface of the moon, and you are the last petal on the tree; and you wait for the next stiff shake to knock you swiftly free from your hold upon the sky, and drift you up and around as the rain weighs you down, and drops you down and down. Long before you hit the grass you will have forgotten there ever was a tree, or other petals, or a spring, or greening grass below. You will fall in darkness...
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