September 5, 2016
One of those days–too pretty to be stuck inside, they’d say–a dappled blue sky, a breeze carrying a hint of fall on its wings, a rustle of riotous verdant summer leaves. They speak in hushed voices of fall, murmuring of their own mortality, glimpsing into a crimson-hued future. Each branch bathed in swaths of summer silk, ready to be stripped bare by the inevitable autumn. Let the evergreen needles be immortal; we will rest, they say. Let the clouds drift, gossamer-light, on a periwinkle sky, whisked on and on and on.
And not so faraway, a storm spins and spews into the ocean, its force detectable only in a tug underwater, nipping at unsuspecting toes, snatching in the waves.
I’d’ve lived a thousand times if only I knew how.