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Fall..

Smoking, I stand on my porch watching the wind thrash at a dying cotton wood. It's noble looking in its annual death, a skeleton of a life that once was – even so short. Endless oranges and reds are torn from it – igniting the gray sky in a flurry of death. No screams, no sorrow – just the emotionless wind that tosses my hair and sets free my dear motionless friend from life. A life revolving around growth and color – nothing more, how I wish a death was so tranquil, perhaps serene, just a common step, and yet in my mind it is not. The color of my life, or the grayness thereof, will fall just as these leaves but will I take it in such an orgasm of color? Will the winds of time and life be violent or calm – colors floating listlessly to the ground or ripped in anger from my dying limbs, to be blown about in chaos, confusion, to be forgotten in the haze of a wintry death? Snubbing the smoke, I climb down to the tree. Putting my face to the cold life-death skin – its rough, smells of bitter pages in a history book, yet sweet like churned up moist earth.


Teach me…I Whisper…teach me…

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