Hmmm, thought Ditto, would you look at that… a leaf caught in the stream. Wavering on the water, pushed against a stone. It’s a dry leaf, yellow and crinkly. I wonder how long it will remain here, softly battering the stone? I wonder what will become of it when I’m gone? I wonder if it will miss me? I wonder if I will think of it at night when I’m home? I wonder if it will still be here, softly battering the stone?
The leaves are changing. The world is a year older and I’m a year older. But for those born this past year, the world is brand new. If you’ve been here a while it’s hard to see the world as brand new. You see things that aren’t what they used to be and become nostalgic for the way they used to be. Or maybe you just become nostalgic for the way you used to see things, when you used to see things as brand new.