It was a delicious day. The kind of day you run home to tell your mother about. It’s the kind of fall day you dig your nose in. Burrow deep within the crispy leaves. You plow your face into, like the forgotten outer rim of the watermelon rind—you can’t taste it anymore buy you plow on…It was the kind of day you don’t spit the seeds out of…you want to hold them deep inside yourelf, to incubate their memory forever.

As I walked on this delicious day, through a graveyard of forgotten leave, I came upon a most peculiar sight: a midget in a tree. Not just any tree however. She was sitting high atop a tree that apparently had grown upside down; for unlike the vintage leaves of this year’s harvest on display, this tree [growing inside—transferring into the ground]. Neither was it just any normal midget. This wasn’t the type you gawk at or feel pity for, it was the kind that confounds you with it s ability to hold so much goodness into such a small package without bursting like an over-inflated red balloon. I scaled the root system in a moment, and even quicker straddled the branch beside her.

Cautiously, I cleared my throat and announced: “What’s love?”. To which she duly responded: “Its all relative really…and blasphemy to speak of, what you and I both read of…and ignorant to know of…but I’ll show you…” “Show me?” I questioned, “But when?”

“Soooon…”