So you stop for a moment because who knows why. You stop. The light changed or the dryer buzzer went off or the wind picked up and you more than pause. You stop. And the thing about stopping is you notice stuff. You see the spider web so strategically placed between the roof and the gutter down spout. You see how some leaves move up the driveway in the wind while others remain still… stuck, maybe. You hear the mail truck, still blocks away but moaning up a hill, full of complaints. You feel the ache in your feet and the pending wobble in your knee. You smell some early barbecue or burning leaves, it’s difficult to tell it’s so far away and the scent teases you deeper into stillness. Now, it is seduction, plain and simple. The crow, squawking down the road from its decoy perch is the hypnotist and she lulls you deeper into the stillness. I should sit, you think. I should move, you think. There are so many things to worry about, you think. But the early Autumn, the siren of seasons, has you firmly in her grip and her mercies are paltry and quietly spun. You would willingly drown in her breezy arms with her broken lips hovering like dried leaves at your ear and whispering such simple wisdoms. You remember nothing beyond the ability to breathe and when it stops, when the world returns, first to your eyes and then to your mouth, you long for the death that is harvest, you long for the deafness of birth, you long for forgetting as your toes grow, roots, deep into the ground.