I’m living in a November haze. This month has been light and warm, the breeze soft on my skin and light as it blows through my hair.
I often worry about if people like me or if they think way too much or way too little. I worry about if I am good enough. I worry and worry until the knot in my stomach get tight.
But then I see the wind blow the leaves onto the air like gold foil confetti and I breath. All is well in the November haze.