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Colors of a familiar tune twirl their way through a crisp fall afternoon. The sun’s persistent warm rays reflect off of the colorful leaves that have finally found beauty in death and change. The ribbons of color embrace and conjure up their own memories as I pass a hand slowly over them. They remind me to respond with the appropriate color sequence, which upon release yields an expected hue. Then the concentration is gone, a materialistic eye is confused at what it has just been witnessed, and turns toward the conversationee. A tree sided road strolls up to meet the two, but goes unnoticed as the inner eye curses at it’s lack of power and understanding. A brief pause and a reboot of what is known, and what is not, and the walking verbal interaction continues, but so too a constant frustration at the lack of action. Always a lack of action.