Fall

Apr 29, 2008

Fall’s beginning; lingering on an out-stretched hand as an offering and omen to the future on a freshly sun-swept October morning. The masonry of a century past held itself proudly as I crept through its long-drawn shadows. Acrid in my clasped mouth, privy in its own right, the remnants of Hills Bro’s morning blend clung to my tongue with determination, shouting a reminder of the simple unremarkable beauties dayspring can hold. Before seeing it fit only for the sourly motivated souls of society, clasping onto the torture of day-weary eyes and the constructs of normality like a child to the teat; I lay besieged by the audacity of those passing souls—empty of shame, making their ways to this place and that for an unsung, queerly unselfish, purpose. Yet in the dreary low-swept light, I discovered a lucid peace and understanding, as I found myself readily adopting the colors of the sidewalk brigade from my early appointments.

The sun soon beat my back like a golden pillow of remorse as it weaned a graveyard’s emerald greens in a pasture nearby. I let my eyes rise to the stone building tops—an effortless diversion from the ants dodging a barrage of footsteps below. A raven set like a king on a stone outcrop, eyes shifting skyward toward the storm that had just passed.