What do you write
when there is too much to write,
when life proves to be cyclical
and that which you pushed behind
comes back to bite your heels.
The page remains blank on the table
and a sole figure walks outside,
into the reflective time of year
when the growth chart comes out
and the blustering wind sweeps me
off to the land of what if.
If ever air could be seen,
it would be seen today as a
rosy sunset shoots out golden reflections
towards a dying world,
and only then do thoughts come to life.
Deja vu becomes tangible,
and the same gust of wind carrying me
up and away through memories
sweeps through the trees,
rushing the gold and amber leaves
into a sorbet of airborne colors.
The world continually dies, continually
springs to life as it sings its song
of renewal. Today is a season,
yesterday a memory, tomorrow a hope;
I live for all three.
There is change and growth
that can be charted, that doesn’t appear
until you get far enough ahead to
look back. There are times when
the narrow path is hard, but tonight
it proves to be my greatest comfort.