01 December 2008

It's Just the Season of Year

I can't really remember what I was doing, but I was struck with the impulse to phone my brother. I surge with anticipation. And on the heel of excitement I'm called up short. I'd forgotten. I'm alive in a moment just as one who's lost a limb but feels the presence of it. A presence so seamless, so-unconsciously-taken-for-granted, separation doesn't exist. I was alive; no separation. Alas.

A wind blows through the limbs. Am I the wind? Am I the emptiness in the sound? Am I the trees? Am I grey?
I look in the mirror.
I look away, bow my head into my hands.
I forget what I see.
I'm called back.
It's just the season of the year.

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