It is that last cool breath before the summer’s warmth. Field upon field of heaped greens sway in a ripening wind waiting for the sun to impart its own gold colouring upon them. Not quite foodstuffs, nor still seedlings dreaming of life, they prepare to change. As do we all.
“I like my vacuum cleaners to look like vacuum cleaners not airships, or oxygen masks, or lilac lawnmowers, or frisbees! Bleedin’ disgraceful!”
“It’s called progress, Granddad. Stop moaning.”
“Pfft! It’s called change for change’s sake.”
“What would you rather have, a fancy vacuum, or dirt?”
That’s my Granddad.
Once when the world was young
Stars less tarnished
Nights more polished
And innocence still remained
I dreamed of the quiet
Of the fresh and warm
Of snow gently falling
Birds shaking wings
Everything was wonderful
All I would wish
All anyone could wish
Streams running through my mind
Tinkling like bluebells
But then came the noisy
Who spoilt it
Brash and foolish
False glitter and loud voices
Bad language and trash
I remember the moment
It cracked open my soul
And nothing seemed the same again
The sun failed to rise; a world wailed in the harsh, west wind. Night stood in permanence an unyielding blanket of tar. All was changed. All was still.
I don’t know how many eons passed before I realised it was not the sun that had moved on but me.
The world turns,
Stifles the humidity,
Kissing the leaves with cold breaths,
In a way the heat never could.
A skittering leaf
Troubles the window glass,
Disturbs a restless sleep;
The sort of sleep that is aware
Even if the sleeper is not.
I closed my eyes to summer
And open them to autumn.
The world has changed
Last night a lark trilled
Filling my world with beauty
Her heart in her song
How the little things affect
How the little things complete
I frequent the in between:
The private world;
The sheltered spaces
Of heart and soul;
Some seek to drag me from it
Kicking and screaming,
Protesting at not living like they do.
But I do not wish to live that way:
Life is too short to waste.
So, if you catch a shadow within the shade,
Hear a slow-thudding heart in the night,
Don’t search for the light switch.
I’ve removed all the bulbs.
Red-eyed and dark
The shadows move.
They outnumber us now:
When did we lose the battle
For our own existences?
Was there even a battle?
I see the odd biped
Moving through the flow
With fear etched upon their face.
I share it;
I hate it.
This is the world we have created.
This is the world we once owned.
I see it all from my house
Nestled between mountain ridges.
I see it all from my eyrie
Where the steel ones can’t find me.
The night echoes of a Winter to come and that of a Fall falling.
It is the moment between Summer’s joy and Winter’s slumber.
Life luxuriates over memories past and fortunes future,
And I inhale of it hoping to capture the essence of the change.
Whether I succeed or not, I am not sure.
But there’s a tang of something to roll around in my mouth,
Perhaps, it is the flavour of something new.