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10/25/10 - (2)
Seventy Autumns
Curious how, for the entire demise of this mild, unraveling season, When all the colorless, lacklustrous leaves Have been busy fading, withering, shriveling, brittling, Cascading earthward, with listless, whisperous submissiveness, Carried along on the fugitive whims of itinerant winds,
I've been rising from the morbid torpors of torment's rigor mortis, Becoming more alive, by the day, the hour, the second, Embraced by sunrays of flamboyantly flaming radiance, Voluptuous moonbeams glowing like St. Elmo's fire, As though growing in the glorious crown of Eden's pristine tree of life.
How such an anomalous phenomenon could be happening to me, I have to believe has everything to do with serendipity Or, if not, with faith in things unseen, unimagined, undreamed, Things emanating from the faith that looks beyond immortality, To the origins of nitrogen, oxygen, hydrogen, water, light, air.
These days, shuffling through accumulations of wizened leaves, My shoes ask my feet why they persist in disturbing death's issue. They answer that they're just listening to the universe, As it progresses, step by millennial, eonic, cosmic step by step, Toward the precipice of destiny's very next evanescent spring.
And now that I've arrived, revitalized, at my seventieth autumn, In October's denouement, the beginning of fall's ending, I realize that life is just a series of seasonal sequences and cycles Leading, guiding, beckoning, shepherding me skyward, To that timelessness when dead leaves halo the heads of angels.
10/25/10 - (2)
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