(autumnhasarrived)

Fall is here.
Its beautiful and cool. A summer's soft whispering rattle, summers warm lips pursed so close to your ears you can feel her breathe. The last cool breath of a lover slowly being laid down to die. A sudden awareness of spinning cycles; lifes like that.
It tends to end where you began or begin where you ended.
Speaking in riddles eloquent and unforgiving. It scolds you with torture and rewards you with joy known only by witness. I walk like the clouds through fallen leaves. Tiny green soldiers gone back to their homeland with the passing of the september wind. The autumn brings it home. It makes me long and feel; like some great hero on an oddessy alone and free. The way this new wind get's behind you. As if it were destiny or fate pushing you on into the unknown with a bare and naked drive.
I can do anything this time of year.
This time of year cigerettes taste different in the cold.
Simple pleasures are accelerated, feathers on bare skin or tears welling up in a moment of weakness. This year it feels ok to feel like me. So tonight I`ll stand on the old locks, forgotten and breathing shades and voices. Tonight I`ll scream out into the chill evening air of the navy dusk and tell the world I`m ready for what it has in store. It has been along time since I felt alive like I do tonight. Sober and clear headed. Wheels turning like the belts on a big block engine, pedal buried until steel touches floorboards.
On my way home I walk slowly along side a stammering creek. In the tangerine glow of the lazy street lamps I watch my own distorted reflection, my skin stretched across bone. It lists and wavers and bends. The old me being dragged like a corpse across stones and sticks. An aincent funeral rite. A decaying mass, smashed and wobbling.
Once he was me but I will never be him again.
Leave me out, expose me to these elements and weather away any memory of what I was. A weak child that refused to grow up. The wind licks the back of my neck and I quiver and quake. This incarnation a last midnight excorsisim sharing a freshly lit smoke with the infant winter wind. A suckling funeral pyre for an old dead mate. I reach down and pull a thin peice of concrete from the trampled brush. It echos like time splashing in a shallow arc across the moment. I stand tall enjoying every simple movenment. Careless and free I need no one to tell me I will be ok. No one to accept me. I have no regrets and will give no apologies. Anything that matters will come to know me for who and what I am. I need nothing to stay my hand as it pull`s the hat from my head.
I stand for an instant frozen in time and inhale.
Clean and cool and embracing, the coy as the weather filcks and flitters about my body. Wrapped in black cloth, white cotton and the wind. I feel the old fammiliar kiss of peace on my forehead. I need nothing else to usher me into this season. I have myself, I have my friends I have my family to keep me warm; that is all I`ll ever need. The stars feel like they are smiling as the earth greets every footstep. I follow the concrete path home to my bed where I will dream pleasantly and await whatever tomorow brings.
Fall is here.
I am ready.