On-the-Edge-Of-Days

“Thomas…Thomas!” He heard the voice from a far-off place. The leaves were whirling. He was sitting in a stack of dead, brightly colored leaves that had fallen to the ground and the wind was cold. “Thomas!” He couldn’t see. The air was filled with bits of deceased foliage. He was in the center of a maelstrom, red and gold. Leaves in his eyes, in his mouth, choking. He couldn’t stand up. He was being shaken. “Thomas! Wake up!” The boy drew in a deep, shaky breath and opened his eyes to his mother’s worn and worried visage. “Thomas, my beloved child--you need to sit up.R