Monday, March 18, 2024

Dried Leaves

What is this vaporous waif that comes at me during the early morning hours before dawn? I wake overnight to a misty apparition in the corner of the bedroom. A scentless benign gloom that lingers. Patiently. The hesitating snatch of mortality creeping at me in my dreams? I also smell it outside during the day in the decaying leaves that swirl down the driveway in god's own vortex. Is it a warning? Or just a gentle reminder to cherish the days we have. All things converge in the same ending,