Touch Of Fall

I was taking a walk through those summer fields of green when I came across the man again. The pale one with the warm smile and cold eyes. This old man drifts along quickly and quietly thinking no one sees him. But I see him throughout the years and know what he brings. His presence brings about such a change; I can hardly bare it and rushed to stop him in his tracks.

“You’re here to take it, aren’t you?” I asked.

“Take what?” He replied.

“The warmth of summer days to replace them with your cold touch.” I said sadly.

He stared me down.

“Must it be such a terrible thing my love?”

I started back at his cold gaze and replied,

“I don’t want it. Must you be so cruel?”

He let out a heavy sigh and adjusted his glasses.

“I take no pleasure in your unhappiness lovely girl.”

“Then spare me such an unhappy change.”

He shook his head.

“I cannot. See the beauty in a world so changed”.

He then waved his hand and I felt the familiar chill overcome me. His face became young and full of healthy color again until the next change of season I suppose. He continued on saying;

“The beauty is different for everyone. Go enjoy the gifts of this new season my dear. The pumpkins, the leaves, all are my gifts to you”.

I stared back at him and said sharply, “So I can get used to it and have you change it?”

He let out a slight smile.

“Indeed, it is my job. Take pleasure in my gifts as I depart.”

His presence faded into nothing but I knew he’d be back soon, pale and yearning for his color he’d take once again. The greedy, gluttonous, Indian giver. Yet my greatest gift giver and my dearest love. 

Last Bit Of Coke In The Bottle

I think of the darkness within every single person as the last bit of coke in the glass bottle. Ever so sweet and ever so dangerous. There are many names for the darkness and it varies between each person. Hate. Anger. Frustration. Sadness. Self-Loathing. Fear. Anything that can bring somewhat of a painful or uncomfortable stir in a person. There it is, trapped in the bottom of the bottle and it can't get out because if it did, it would destroy. The cap to the coke bottle can be anything. An event, a person or people, a thought, any number of things, as long as it's something nice to hold onto because when that bottle is turned (and it will be because it's in a constant state of motion) those good things need to keep the darkness from spilling out. The cap can easily come loose. It can be screwed back on, but how much will be left in the bottle once it's tight again? How much will be flooded all over the floor? What if it was to the point where there was nothing left in the bottle. You wouldn't put a cap on an empty bottle, would you? Of course not, you'd throw it out. The cap wouldn't have a purpose, just as the bottle no longer had a purpose. So everyone tries to keep that cap screwed on tight. However, even if that cap was on, it could leak. Even if it doesn't leak, people forget one important thing. The coke can get out by smashing the bottle, it's made of glass.

Bleeding Hearts Of August

Bleeding Hearts of August

The farmer handed his son a bucket and told him to come along with him today to the orchard. "Pick as many as you like", he told his son.

The young man wandered away from his father and to the trees by the lake where the wind blew strong.  With that strong wind, not much fruit would stay on the trees. The strong ones would hold and await to be plucked from the branches.  They looked good, so ruby red like beating hearts growing on a limb. Yet, there was something sad about them. Almost as if they could feel, they would weep. All they had to look forward to is someone coming along to see them as a worthy enough crop to take them away from the only home they've ever known  to be consumed. That was their life, these ripe and tasty virgins.

He reached out, but to take something so sweet seemed almost somewhat sinful. How could he take their perfection away? Even if he wanted it, he couldn't be the one.

His eyes turned to the fallen apples on the ground. Rotted and filthy. Common whores, feasted on by so many. The deer, the bugs, the vermin all had their turns with the sweet fruit and turned it into an undesirable rot. These damaged goods were not his taste.

His father came along and grabbed a ripe apple off the branch. "There is nothing wrong with taking one for yourself", he said as he took a bite.

"I'm not hungry", the son replied. He gave the bucket back to his father. Another would come along to take the virgins and the whores, but he would not be the one to touch either of them.