I look into his eyes and I see the Ocean. A storm is brewing there. Waves of indecision are crashing upon the shore, threatening to spill over onto the worry lines etched in his face.
He ends up turning his back to me: the storm seems to have calmed. He left me, but I continue to fall deeper and deeper, like a ship sailing towards its demise. But the Siren sounds too sweet to turn away.
Leaves of many different colors swirl down to the ground, gliding on the wind's wings. I stop to admire the beauty of the world. But is this beauty? I wonder as dead leaves crunch beneath my boots.
Is this all out world can manage? Look at the hair we spend so long making presentable and the nails we paint more colors than those of the leaves in the fall. They are merely dead cells, but we call them pretty.
Why? Because the world we live in is fallen. We can now only see glimpses of the magnificence of our world for we've ruined it with our sin. But the Lord is good, and he will one day bring us to a place where there is no death, no dead leaves to step in and mourn their beauty.
