...The Words of September...
September mornings have that ethereal change lacing alongside the dawn. They call me back down to the earth after a long hot August and strap me in for a cold winter. The very presence of chaos of language perplexes me. The unsung magic of change tightens its beautiful fingers around my throat. Death in shades of brown, red and orange is coming.
Schedules and daylight change. The anxiety of time passing shows up in the drawn on eyebrows of the old lady who reminds me of Anne Rice. I love her, this old lady – she has no clue. She wears silver butterflies in her hair and her daughter’s ashes around her neck. She may be interested to know that I placed a silver butterfly in my father’s casket, alongside of the name of the daughter who became my third son. I don’t tell her because I am not sure she would connect the deeper meaning…although she might on some other level. I don’t believe it is time to pass that sentence into her ether.
The most valuable thoughts I have had this year revolve around speech, thought and desire. The talking that goes on around me, the empty words filled with mere intentions that are never met – just spoken they seem satisfied with their own presence. The intention and meanings of words just walk away on their own. The actions that should follow the words seem stagnant, stale and idle.
Judgment fades. Words become incoherent. They swirl and dance out of people’s mouths and I cannot hear them. I watch their lips move and their bodies are so tired just from speaking the same words over and over. I listen so much more as the September winds mingle with words of promise and retribution and then get lost in the limbs and dying leaves…
