Directional and organized.
That's everything I wished I could be,
and I gazed wistfully at the sky.
Autumn was having its way with the leaves,
burning them to a crisp and cooling them to their demise.
Wings alternating in time with the beat in my head,
I stepped in time, dancing with the rhythm of nature,
feet pressing into the fresh mud.
The next year was near and far,
and I'd already taken the first steps,
pulled by the mentors in the sky