in the corridor between the apartment complex and the deli, the leaves gather and swirl with the wind trapped between the brick passage way, making a mini tornado. its a lovely sight, one right of of American Beauty on rare occasions when a plastic bag from the grocers across the street finds it way into the windy corridor. sometimes i walk by and stop in the middle of the swirl, letting the leaves fly around me, while i become the eye of the storm.
strangers pass each other here, waiting for the elevator, on their way about their days, barely making eye contact. just a quiet passageway, where souls pass with out a second thought, a small space in between the hustle of every day life.