text: By the time I stepped outside, the leaves were on fire. I could have missed it. I could have kept my tongue in the back of my throat when a knock came at my door the night before, then an older cousin who came carrying dishes of chicken and rice up to my bedroom, wouldn't have shifted my drapes open. They took a peep out my curtains, and I'd regretted even calling out that they could come in so much, I had hoped staying quiet throughout their visit would give a hint. But they're open, and this morning, they bother me. I think about getting up and closing the curtains. I'd only noticed he left the curtains parted when upon my waking a gold ribbon draped across my carpet and crawled up onto my bed. Looking out the window, the sky was bruised and battered, but it's skin was purer the farther it stretched down to dawn. I was so tired, I'd let the weight of the world lay into me the night before, all my limbs had been ground and I woke up feeling like melting butter, my eyes were as puffy as buttermilk pancakes. I melted into the bed. I contemplated for what I think was hours on walking over to that window, and closing the blinds. Each time I thought about it, I should shut the curtains, I considered the progression of the little ribbon, snaking it's way further and further till it was climbing on my lap. Slowly it was making it's way back to the sun, from the inside of my room to jump out my window. My window which was, brighter now, almost radiating, illuminated something in front of my house, and I should shut the curtains, when I get the will to get up. That something was my Maple tree. while I peeked through my window out to the soft sky and vast plains of clouds, it peeked right back at me, into my tiny room watching me look out from under my covers. I'd never seen the sun so intense, it yawned across my neighborhood, heard by everyone around, it's beams that flooded through open air joined with my little ribbon and paraded in the sky with such resplendent joy. And it was enough, to get me up from my bed and to my curtains, for the first time in months. My legs creaked, my back ached, my shoulders were numb, but when I was up, I naturally swam to the window like the little ribbon. I held a drape in my hand, looking out at my maple, playing in the yard with all of the other trees and Loniceras, chattering in the wind. whistling across my window was a samara, twirling so close to my window, but too fast for me to see it's wings. I was reminded of something I once did one summer, In grade school. At age eight I used to get up at six in the morning to go to my neighbors house and ask if their kids could play. I was up by five squirming in onesies at a breakfast table and I eagerly awaited the time I could go outside. we swept up all of our samaras into one pile, with a broom and grubby fingers, putting them all together. we'd dig our hands into it like a pile of candy from the trick or treating soon to come, and counted down from four. Tossing them up as high as we could in the air, watching them fall was the best part. they had oars attached to seeds, and while they drifted down to sweep our faces I dreamed about building a sail to glide through the mountains with shaped just like a samara, coffee bean wings leather whipping in the sky. It was what I would want to be when I was all grown, and I'd plan it all day. Taking flight across the oceans, getting medals, navigating storms, and I built a whole life for myself to live in, and take flight with. The next day it would be an entirely new dream. For these past months I've been so well grounded into the earth, barely getting my heels to lift off the ground. but I wish I could, and I wish I could have played with samaras more often, instead of just dreaming about what I'd make them. And I wish I could of done a lot more things when it was warmer. I felt sad. It's been so cold for so long, I've missed out on so much. Birthdays, swimming, sleep overs, holiday crafts. I wish I got up yesterday morning, to see the sun. I wish I got up a month ago, and started getting up every morning. I wish I never laid in bed at all. How come I stayed in bed another day? How could I have known this was waiting outside? There was a reason, there was a point to all of this, But I could forget it now, because there was no reason to not get myself up, and to not make something of the day. When I used to try, that day always fell short, and I always fell short of what was expected. Somewhere along the line I forgot I was traveling a road, and thought I was on a sinking boat. I let myself sink deeper and deeper, and now I have a canyon to climb out of, the fault is only mine. Breaking from my idleness, I left the beautiful bath of light in my room, soaking the autumn maple leaves in it's syrup. I went through my dresser, picked a nice fitted sweater, and pants, then went downstairs and pass my shoes to the door. By the time I stepped outside, the leaves were on fire. Their sails were luminescent, veins seeping through like the boldest paint strokes of a stained glass, and they all glittered and shook. Some shimmied free and flew like kites across the yard, but the samaras spun down, showering like rain. Of everywhere else I could have been, all the places I could have seen, I was never happier to wake up here, and get up from my bed to go outside, and not miss the flights of the samaras, the chorus of the leaves, today. Though, this sunrise happens every day, just as it always promises. I might get up earlier to see it again, tomorrow.