November 15th, 2015

caillebotte_man at his window

After and Before

Rain was falling when I woke this morning, and fell for hours. Early afternoon it stopped and after a while the gray overcast brightened and then the clouds began breaking up. I gathered walnuts from the back lawn as bright sunlight showered down. Any that fell in the far back yard, which is still thick with yellow leaves, I left lying. The raccoons will get them tonight, but I have more than enough walnuts now. It will take me most of the winter to eat them.

It seemed that there might be moon and stars to see tonight, but as dusk neared the clouds restored themselves, and now no light penetrates them. There might be more rain before morning, but right now there is only the sound of gathered drops dripping from the trees. Tonight it seems a melancholy sound, but the melancholy is not created by the dripping. I've brought it from somewhere in the back of my mind, and it doesn't want to be dispelled. I try to recall similar nights when my mood was lighter, but no such image will reveal itself. I wonder where thoughts are hiding when I can't bring them forth? My mind must be larger than I imagine, and full of displaced moments.

But there will be sunlight tomorrow, and tonight will be driven away, sent to lurk somewhere until it will perhaps return someday, unbidden. The more past there is, the stranger and more ungovernable it becomes, like cards being turned over, the familiar form of each more and more a surprise.


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