Leaving a Mark
Orange leaves give a golden perspective that unnerves because the year is ending. I can’t remember what I’ve done with it. Misplaced the whole year somewhere – maybe it’s tucked away in the very bottom corner of my jewellery box. Or the end of my bed, all warm and wrapped up but my feet don’t reach it.
A year is not a healthy thing to have forgotten.
It’s not about being caught up in day-to-day living which means a year vanishes. A year’s disappearance provokes the frightening sense that I vanish. We have a fragile aspiration for permanence. That is the myth: an ideal that motivates us to work harder, love harder and not give up. Marks can be made. I believe it but am also so quick to forget.
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theshrinkingviolets posted this
