Piles of Falling Leaves

"Why should we be in such desperate haste to succeed, and in such desperate enterprises? If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away. It is not important that he should mature as soon as an apple-tree or an oak. Shall he turn his spring into summer? If the condition of things which we were made for is not yet, what were any reality which we can substitute?  We will not be shipwrecked on a vain reality.  Shall we with pains erect a heaven of blue glass over ourselves, though when it is done we shall be sure to gaze still at the true ethereal heaven far above, as if the former were not?" ~ Henry David Thoreau

It's amazing where one will find their thoughts if they truly allow their mind to freely wander. It's funny and peculiar that very few things in life, perhaps only a handful but some of the best of things, don't depend on anything of your will or persistence. They are best left to be what it was they were always drifting towards, just as leaves once on trees now fluttering and floating in shades of new color. There is a tense excitement to the uncertainty in the unknown moments of these things, an agitated but serene patience to what has yet to come. And it's not that you expect anything of it, or even that you are set in desire, but more so that there is some slight glimmer of hope in the what-if that catches your eye like the rays of sun on those falling leaves. Yet, you're not searching or grasping for anything. As long as you genuinely let the wind carry you in those moments it's bound to end up at that something beautiful.

That sort of lost in the moment, striding down a mountain, beautiful day, first kiss energy. Inch of Dust by Future Islands