The leaves were blowing on the breeze today.
Crunching underfoot.
Scuttling across the cement.
The wind plucked them from their place in the sky.
Brown and shriveled now.
Their glory has passed.
Sometimes it seems like this season will last.
The brilliance; the light.
The crispness in the air.
But eventually it, too, will cease to be there.
The things that plague you now won't always be.
What God's doing now isn't the only thing you'll see.
A new season is coming.
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