Pin cushions

The way intersections meet  always made me wonder.  And ask, of course,

‘Dad, why do all the roads meet?’ And he merely smiled at me and said, ‘Because the road-makers made them that way.’ A simple answer, To a little girl, But it made me wonder why the road makers did this. All roads meet again, then?

I wanted it to mean I would see him again after the autumn leaves took him away from me.  How something as frail as pin cushions could always run so far from my state of mind eludes me, and I can’t think straight.

Those autumn leaves will drag him into the sea, and I’ll be left in a tree on the shore. With all the kites and lost ones, I’ll have to stay.  

I never understood why.

But I despretly wish the leaves would take me away from this dying tree.