Demanded Ambivalence
Prose From the Drafts!
To stand in the midst of persimmon leaves drifting from the trees like an ember’s dying glow, ‘neath October skies which hang indigo mountains laced and trimmed with gold. Between skeletal branches the sunbeams quietly burn away, fading breaths of dawn to night. Light which cannot be caught in my hands for safekeeping against the coming forever-gray blight.
Further from the maples, brisk winds cuddle with curt pleasantries, courting both frostbite and springtime renewal. The grass less youthful, grow shadows trodden as if falling deep in midnight snow. A chime from the fence breaks the silence as the steps of a squirrel shakes its skin, yawning with each foraging harvest till the last songbird moves to southern forests.
In the middle of the yard I am forced to breathe with tranquility, heavy air sinking deep into my lungs. This unburdened rest spills into my cup like wine, filling my senses with a hemlock poison– slow and sure to still my broken body. With each sip I am kissed by gratefulness, the tender lover my calloused hands so often ignore, and I think for a moment the winter storm can be endured.
A chirp pulls my attention overhead toward two sparrows heading south. They weave the currents of the sky, bobbing the melody of nature’s gasp. Graceful the creatures are, watched by my eye. Then a thunderstrike splits the gray and tarnishes the flight. A spectacle of winter showers mix with summer flare, a striking blast of anger against a earth that does not care. The ground calls for rest, it weeps for it, and welcomes the rain for its reserves. But I without my coat, hurry for my home, where huddled against the window, I can watch the sparrows carry on.
But though both are lovingly looked after, only one is gently held, and the other thuds against the window.
And I think with guarded renown, how miraculous it is we should befriend such a feeling and call it
Autumn.