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by S. R. Adams

I woke up sad this morning for no particular reason. After wracking my brain, the feeling remained and even grew. I'm not sure that sad is actually the right word...perhaps melancholy. Maybe there is no one word to describe this feeling of slight anxiety; a dark, dreary cloud that envelopes me in a fog. It makes me feel stupid, tired, confused, and comes with no warning. It gets in my bones, makes them ache, along with my heart and my very soul. It comes for no apparent reason, and there is nothing I can do to fight it. There is no escape from it. I search my memory looking for a reason to feel this way. Nothing. It is a feeling that makes me wonder if madness is not too very far away.

Perhaps it is a reflection of the day outside; the coming of winter, bad weather, dull days and cold nights. I don't remember ever liking the fall season much; the fluctuating temperature between morning and night, keeping me off balance in my clothes. I grew up in the Smokies, where we had the most gorgeous changes in the trees; reds, yellows, purples, oranges, greens in the mountains and the valleys. I don't remember a particular joy in the sight however, because all too soon it would be time for the brilliant colors to die, and await the rake. The trees looked lonesome with their bare branches, and I was lonesome too. But for what? Was it the warmth of the sun; the greens, blues and yellows of summer?

I have never liked change. Change of scenery, residence, seasons; anything out of the ordinary. I have always felt afraid, different from the rest. I didn't belong. Where did it come from, this cold, aching, petrifying fear? This overwhelmingly odd notion that I was a fraud, and would be found out? I have literally traveled the world to conquer this feeling of dread. I have sucked it up, pulled it in, plastered a smile on a brave face. I have ignored it, defied it, denied it. It is still with me, not always shouting loudly in my mind. Most of the time it is small and quiet and I tell myself that maybe, just maybe, it is gone.

But I woke up sad this morning, and there it was. It had crept in during a restless, tortured night and swallowed my soul. It spit me out into the day feeling dreary, fuzzy, dull and fraudulent. Afraid. And so I do the only thing left to do--I pull the blankets over my head and go back to sleep. The sleep that comes is not peaceful. The dreams are distorted and heavy and my mind reels. My body twists and turns and sweats--I am fighting something I can't define. Maybe it is the wind sighing through the trees, rustling the leaves and putting a slight chill in the air. Maybe this is what has crept up on me, wormed into the very heart of me. The wind sounds sad outside my window. It rises and falls in a lonely song. There is a hint of rain on the wind. Not a roaring, rushing downpour or a cold fall storm but a melancholy mist that floats along the breeze and clouds my mind. Tears for the end of summer.

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S. R. Adams is recently retired from the military and has started a second career as a mom. She can also be found quite often in WOW, hosting or just hanging around.

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