Any October day

The autumn leaves are shy this year. Browns and yellows are just beginning. Where are the plumb and crimson? Where are the shimmering salmons mixed with almost florescent green? Hiding. Waiting? Today, like any other, I stare balefully at the empty page. Stringing words together hoping...praying, in my way-I suppose...to say something true. Something new and not cliche. And though the words come easily enough the expression hides. It waits for something...like these leaves. You know when they turn it will be beautiful, but not unique. Only different from the greens of summer. Why do we so easily tire of our surroundings? What is this persistent complaint with time. Some day. One day. Maybe when the leaves turn. Maybe when the trees are bare. But not now. Not yet. Wait.