|Fog After Rain
||[Jan. 30th, 2011|11:20 pm]
The scent of this thin fog fails to evoke anything it once evoked. Instead there is, as though behind it, a second fog, or a thought like fog; but far more dense, so it allows no definition to emerge. The sky presents its sparse stars only slightly blurred, but memory presents nothing, not even a brief twinkle of distant light. |
Here, as I walk I kick those leaves I left unraked last fall, still strewing that part of the yard beyond winter's unscented jasmine hedge, and their sound has dulled as they have decayed. In my mind my lost footsteps make not even that dead sound, and all the streets from which their echoes have vanished are gone as well.
When the jasmine blooms I'll remember the fog, but tonight the fog has forgotten me. It drifts away and as the stars brighten I'm still kicking rotted leaves that once played green music I can no longer hear. Night renders the path my feet have made invisible. It's as though the fog and I haven't been here, or there, at all.
( Sunday VerseCollapse )