In my mind the seasons have been separate gods.
Spring, a maiden, moving ice to melt; summer, a predator, hot, basking, growly; autumn, a russeted stag, richly coloured, rarely frivolous; winter, a skeletal beast, empathetic, stoic, truthfully harsh.
This year’s transition differs. Summer, gently, in the thick of mist, becomes Autumn.
It’s not that time has existed in seasonal boxes, rather I had thought of each year-quarter as a thing outside of time; eternal, revisiting. Time was something we viewed them through.
This year, something in my mind steps though the window.
One thing becomes; replaces, supersedes; another thing, an evolution, and more precious for its brevity.
I have run with gods for years and years, I have knelt to marvel, not unseeing, not unmoved. But this year? It is only I, feeling heat soothe out of earth, observing leaves slowly gilded, reaching my fingers to a ripened blackberry; yet more amazed, more alive to the miracle than I ever remember. The simpler it gets, the better.
One day at a time. Yes, this.
In a hand mirror note purple lips, check purple teeth. A royal colour. Grin. Beyond precious, perceive: life’s grand absurdity. I ask myself the question - supposing I had been a success?
(Materially, I mean, in a career.)
Even as I’m laughing a rainbow half arches through cloud.
Spilt ink, the most important kind.
Spring, a maiden, moving ice to melt; summer, a predator, hot, basking, growly; autumn, a russeted stag, richly coloured, rarely frivolous; winter, a skeletal beast, empathetic, stoic, truthfully harsh.
This year’s transition differs. Summer, gently, in the thick of mist, becomes Autumn.
It’s not that time has existed in seasonal boxes, rather I had thought of each year-quarter as a thing outside of time; eternal, revisiting. Time was something we viewed them through.
This year, something in my mind steps though the window.
One thing becomes; replaces, supersedes; another thing, an evolution, and more precious for its brevity.
I have run with gods for years and years, I have knelt to marvel, not unseeing, not unmoved. But this year? It is only I, feeling heat soothe out of earth, observing leaves slowly gilded, reaching my fingers to a ripened blackberry; yet more amazed, more alive to the miracle than I ever remember. The simpler it gets, the better.
One day at a time. Yes, this.
In a hand mirror note purple lips, check purple teeth. A royal colour. Grin. Beyond precious, perceive: life’s grand absurdity. I ask myself the question - supposing I had been a success?
(Materially, I mean, in a career.)
Even as I’m laughing a rainbow half arches through cloud.
Spilt ink, the most important kind.
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