Tag Archives: Autumn

The Beauty of Past Tense

8 Nov

Today yellow leaves drift downward and scatter upon the parking lot outside my window.

I read a few sentences of words the God-man said once, words he still says, over and over.

“Take heart, for I have overcome the world.”

Have overcome.”

Not, “Will overcome.”

Never has past tense felt so comforting.

Never have words been so real and so able to spread  across generations and lands, thick like homemade blackberry jam on bread.

And we eat it and are filled. And we know it is not just a cute little saying, but reality for us, now.

When the systems of the world with their strangling owed bills and dooming predictions began to feel like they hijacked your day,

Those words will speak out, through the yellow leaves,

They will ignite and burn and leave you knowing that today is not only bearable, but sacred.

And when the faces of people around you look like statues and you are convinced the future will leave you full of widening cracks and alone,

Those words resounds through a moment of heart-connecting conversation, soft lips, a hand in a hand.

Have overcome,” they say, “We are not waiting for someday, when the weather feels sunny and perfect and we lose all our silly human flaws.”

We, like the trees letting go of their leaves, can lose the idea that our someday will be our redeemer. 

Because we are living in the present reality of the past-tense.

Our redeemer has already redeemed.

The Madness Of Celebrating Death

21 Nov

I walk, as I do, before the sun goes to bed

it happens early these days

despite it being hot enough to sweat

I sit on a hill facing some trees

I pick up a leaf dead and nearly colorless

and crinkle it in my fingers

I laugh for no reason

other than life being funny

then it comes as a rush

torrents of joy through my body

and I see above myself

a bird watching this being

alone on a hill shaking with giggles

I wonder if maybe I am

a child

ripe with newness

or a mad old woman who has seen

too much of the world

or maybe I am both

laughing and crunching leaves

enjoying the sound it makes

crazy and free and whole

feeling too young or too old

for my twenty-six-year-old skin

never getting “used to” being me

in all the coming and going

all the madness and beauty

and I stop laughing for a moment

and stare at the trees

so long they seem to shift

what’s left of their colors melding

their branches beckoning me

to join their yearly party of temporary death

and I concur with myself I must be crazy

and laugh a little more for effect

then I pause to catch up with

the narration in my head

and I realize

I am seeing again

and like the ruined leaf

dying a bit

so I may live a little more bravely

next spring

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