I still read him sometimes. I go back to see if some of the magic I once experienced will be there. It is a fool’s errand. I have seen the man behind the curtain and know his words too well. I am no longer moved. I can only see the regurgitation of previous pieces, the shallow self-absorption. It is best to not look too closely, to be able to figure out how the trick is done as it taints every aspect, leaving me to understand all that I thought was talent was simply a con-man’s game of slight of hand. All just smoke and mirrors.
a memory of
Brown leaves cascade through the air like confetti in a tickertape parade. What is it we are celebrating?
The rain falls silently, pooling at my feet. I wonder as the leaves swirl, is this just for me?
I close my eyes, breathe deep the damp air and think, Can I hold on to this just a moment longer?
I raise my hand to brush my hair out of my eyes and catch a leaf instead. Yellow, orange, and red bleeding together and the leaf feels supple, alive between my fingertips.
I stick it between the pages of the book I am reading, smiling. A moment captured.
Meet me here, under the boughs of these trees. Let the leaves fall on us like rain as the wind kicks up and let the only sound be their rustling overhead and under foot. Don’t look at me with recriminations, don’t blame me for the change of seasons.
my own heart.