Thursday, April 17, 2008

Musings on a Sunny Morning While Listening to the Music of a Desperate Man

Reality is tenuous in my hands, slipping over my fingers like a sheer scarf. What will remain to me when my grasp of reality slackens? I stand with hollowed palms, fingers suddenly holding nothing, frozen in the moment of loss. My eyes swirl over the ground, whirl into the barren tree branches, strain into the sky--searching--for what? What is it I have lost? What is the difference here?

I stand searching, and the world blurs around me. Edges soften and bleed. Tree branches fade into the sky. The pliable spears of grass melt into each other, into a green carpet, and then their green fades to a tired color. Gauze-like clouds fill the sky: space is no more. The wind is intoxicating, taking me away, away--

I drift on the wind like a leaf fallen from a tree, twirling and swooping.

The world is changed, changing. The old colors are gone, replaced with nameless new ones. The texture of things is altered, somehow, but I could not say how.

Soon, I cannot even remember the way things were.

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