Early September and the leaves are falling. They crunch beneath my feet as I walk the dogs through the park. Scattered on the lawn they've become brown and brittle, fragile as my heart. Soon they will be trampled and forgotten, as if their existence in nature never mattered, as if life never coursed through their veins, with no thought, as to how they played in the scheme of things. Too often we forget, little things that once mattered, hearts, leaves… it's all the same thing.