Eyes blink as a month passes,

flashing in front of me.

A day to remember, a moment to forget,

lazy summer days pass in a haze

as the night owl appears on the tree.

Gazing down at the world below

are small leaves flying away in the breeze.

They travel in a state of bliss

from one place to another,

the journey far and long

before winter brings its inevitable death.

Freedom is merely a facade,

masking the bare, dry months

of incessant flames.

The world is burning,

the haze a mist,

but even water can’t put the fire out.