Fall senses
She looked at the prompt, a puzzled frown on her face.
Fall.
Well, there was no way she would know. What season were they in now? It definitely wasn't fall, or rather, autumn. On the other side of the world, perhaps. But not here.
She turned away from the screen and looked out the window. What was a typical American autumn like? She imagined pink and orange sunsets, the cool, post-winter air. Cool air. She missed that. Here, they only ever got it in winter and begged for it in the scorching summers. She imagined clusters of fading trees dropping beautiful leaves, the same colour as the sky at dusk. It made death seem so graceful. The sound of the breeze flying past her ears accompanied the gust that whipped her hair around her. Maybe she would be walking through a park and come across an old couple on a bench. Dry leaves would crunch underneath her boots. She would be drinking an autumn- no, fall drink. A hot chocolate. Or was that more of a winter thing? She heard pumpkin spice lattes were popular, but she didn't like the sound of it. What about a juice? No, that's definitely a summer thing. She sighed. The simulation broke. She turned back to the screen.
Damn this Australian heat.
What Fall Brings
Numb fingers.
Pins and needles in your limbs as you stand.
Putting on your favorite sweater,
Soft and warm.
Tiny pinpricks of cold,
Finding every hole in your clothing.
Smells like wet plants.
The air tastes of rotting leaves.
The crunch of hidden twigs,
Under fallen leaves.
The fading light.
Less of it,
And for a shorter time.
Blowing on your hands,
Desperately trying to warm them.
Illusions of warmth,
Of brighter,
Freer times,
Far off,
In the distance.
Clouds that once looked nice,
Now fill you with an endless,
Heavy dread.
Snow is coming.
Light is dimming.
Times are getting busier.
Seasonal depression,
Yard work.
Hatred of the outdoors.
Hatred of being confined to indoors.
Too cold to comfortably exist.
To many people inside,
To just happily sit.
Leaves,
Leaves,
So many leaves.
It's fall.
You're falling.
Time is falling away.
The sky has fallen,
And it's always dark.
Falling,
Falling,
Falling.
Slipping on ice.
Sharp icy knices,
Piercing your throat and lungs.
Too cold to move.
To cold to stay still.
Dying,
Dying.
The trees are dying.
Summer is dying.
Idolizing death,
Taking pictures of the dying trees.
Trees,
Trees.
Letting their beauty fly away,
Empty,
So empty.
Empty,
Empty.
Nose cold,
Warm mug,
Empty.
Empty.
Food.
Not enough food.
Nothing is growing.
Leaves,
Dirty snow.
Piercing cold,
Confinement inside.
Miserable,
Miserable.
Fall.
Seedlings
The tiny dervish nutlet whirrs as we
Admire its moment, slow descent to earth
From towering maple. Autumn’s gentle breeze
Moves through our hair and yellow leaves. With mirth
Upon her face, my daughter’s red small gloves
Pursue the falling seeds in hope to catch,
In flight, a future tree whose limbs above
Will harbor squirrels and nests where finches hatch.
My mug of cider warms my hands and throat.
Her laugh warms more. Its music and the scent
Of dying leaves combined bring forth a note
I hear and truth I feel, a whisper sent
By rustling leaves through wind: the winter’s near,
But fallen leaves sustain so sprouts appear.
Fall Passing
Fall begets emotional change, seeded anew on cooling afternoons, crackling bonfire evenings and primordial mornings.
November turns days cooler, but not yet cold. Mornings, slightly gray and overcast, resemble bedsheets pulled high over head. They billow and deflate, creating a soft, filtered, secret world, unique that it lasts only a brief moment. Under cover of this cocoon, this soothing hide-a-way indulgence, I felt reluctant to face the early hour bracer. Now darker, closer, the sheets have finally melted. Time has once again come to a point of decision.
Looking out my kitchen window, waiting for the tea kettle to whistle, I watched everything outside define and enliven as dawn’s subtle spectrum painted a virgin palette of color across the sky, changing from smooth mauve to a clear yellow. Broad buttresses of sunlight poured from between houses and tree trunks.
Fall was slipping into winter this morning, clouds of breath appeared steadily as I walked to work. Every part of my body felt the cold except my right hand, due to a warm bag of roasted peanuts I had just bought from a street vendor. I broke open the brown bag of peanuts and the warm steam that rose up carried a salty aroma that invited fond childhood memories fishing on the levy with my grandfather. Breaking open the ridged peanut shells brought warm treasures to keep my mind off November’s passing.
Flannels and Scarves
The jack-o'-lanterns glare
With an overcast sky
The orange and red leaves
Fall from the sky
The children are giddy
Halloween is here
Crunch, crunch
Goes the leaves
Under each eager foot
Trick or treat sings from their mouths
As they gather their loot
Apple cider takes over
Dominates the air
Pumpkin spice might be better
Some will declare
Yet we all stay cozy
Wrapped in flannel and scarfs
Sipping warm nostalgia
Melting the heart
Red, green and yellow, it’s all the same to me.
The leaves crunch under his feet
as he follows the petrichor home.
She kisses the ring on her thinning finger,
And sets the table for one.
His skin is bleeding now, punctured by the branches.
He knows if he stops; the pain will never go away.
She is not hungry anymore, she doesn't even feel afraid.
She lies down on the bed; the memories keep her awake.
He wants to rest his aching limbs,
But the forest is thinning now, and the river is left behind.
He soldiers on till the city begins and he feels the sunrise.
She does not want to face today, she wishes she could die.
She curls up into a ball and cries, she wishes she had said goodbye.
Her skin tingles when she hears his voice and she knows it's all a lie.
He rings the bell, he calls her name. She doesn't open the door.
He sits on the sidewalk and watches the autumn leaves.
They dance in circles with the gentle wind and come to rest at his feet.
He starts to feel faint and the day darkens around him.
Something pricks her mind, a sixth sense if you will.
She parts the curtains for the first time in months and sees...
She's running now, barefoot, in her nightgown,
Till she's kneeling, holding him in her arms.
"It's a miracle." the papers read the morning after.
"The fifteen year old, lost seven months ago in the
Northern forests, has finally come home...
Missing since a rebellious hiking trip with friends,
He was presumed dead...when they couldn't find his body."
It's a miracle, his mother knows, because her son is blind.
It's a miracle, he knows, because he survived.
The darkness protected him, he says,
For he can choose what he sees.
In the depths of despair, he burrowed deeper,
Till strength and untapped senses set him free.
#taste #touch #hear #sound #smell #feel #strength #fall
#rise #senses #mother #son #love
#poetry
Oh, daughters-in-law learn
Oh, daughters-in-law learn, learn, learn. Whenever your mother-in-law starts screaming put cotton in your ears. If still, you are hearing her close ears with fingers.
If you still feel uncomfortable close your eyes. Now the sight has died down.
Now your important two sensory organs are dead. You will be in some other world. Keep doing meditation. It is good for health.
Your tongue doesn’t come into picture here in this situation, Ok? There is no role of taste Ok? The nose also won’t come into the picture. Your mother-in-law can not tackle the smell. She won’t think of your skin. So you don’t feel any touch. Think that all your 5 sensory organs are dead. Only she can tackle your ear and/or eyes which are dead now. Now you are safe. Now you are not at all in this world. Count the stars creating your own world.
Silence is the most powerful roar, it seems sometimes
After some time open half sensory organ, that is one eye. If you still feel uncomfortable close again. Like that keep on doing trial and error. Use one eye once and the other another time. When your mother-in-law tired of screaming falls on the sofa open your eyes wide and clear view will be there. Serve mother-in-law with juice and other things and pose to be serving her or really serve. She’ll become happy with juice and all the hospitality you are showing.
The water going to the boiling point should and must cool down. That is nature. The rain has to cease. Tempest has to cool down. All have to come to normal.
Again when she fires next time use the same trick and be happy. She too will be happy and you too can be happy forever. Intelligence is mightier to the sword.
If this is followed 90% of divorces will come down in the world.
