Thursday, August 19, 2010
The night air seeps in through the midnight screen, soothing my cricket-skin: sun-burnt heart. The wispy chill carries promises of fall rains, dying leaves to decorate my room, death surrounding for it is fall; the time the world dies: I flourish. Acorns sit and await their turn in a blue and white bowl, they long to be buttons on my coat, live and die forever near my heart. I fall over, the breeze is to much, my arms are taken away by the invisible man who comes with the leaves rustling call; they wish to overtake me, they know I am weak. Quartz shall now be the currency: the wind whispered it in my closing ear. I wish to be poor for only then will the squirrels be my friends; I will be allowed to wear the bear's warm winter coat. Two pounds of quartz is all I have, 't'will last me through the rains. My breath seeps out through the midnight screen; it comforts the moose, whose head has grown courageously heavy; it snows where he lives.