It’s that time of the year, when the world around me dances in celebration & silent pain within dead quiets of the nights. As winds go from warm to breezy to chilly, it invades every sense, my disposition becomes cooler as the nights progress faster within its slumber, leaving me to reflect upon the cards of destiny dealt thus far. My senses heighten at this time of the year. I take in every breath, feel in every person, sense every smell, observe every expression, recall 23 years of scattered memories, passionately fall in love with the burning smell of wood on chilly mornings & taste the very last drop of freshly brewed Arabica coffee.

In this very moment. . I’m surrounded by absolute silence as the world around me rests in deep slumber while a quiet blanket of seeming serenity has encapsulated this town. The leaves are turning crisp shades of auburn, subtle winds gravitate weightless leaves from their places, turning this town into shades of auburn all around. It is truly a beautiful sight, when Canadian autumn arrives. Such melancholy, such heartache, such beauty, it is the season of change, of loss, of passion, it’s Autumn.

Off in the distance, I can hear the sounds of cars speeding past off a highway ramp. Such ambient sounds take me back in time, of memories drowning in wine, conversations laced in intrinsically pure aches from the deepest corner of a heart, whilst her demons danced on her walls. I still remember my reflection on a wine glass half full with chardonnay, verses & stanzas raining heavily in my head. I still remember everything as if it happened yesterday . .

For I know, Autumn was when I was born again, little less rigid, embarrassingly transparent, lost within life’s first real test, clutching to faith but ceaselessly, pure.

But for now, I will continue to rock in this chair, watch my shadow on the wall, lose myself in intoxicating sonatas of Arabia, wish on this beautiful night to stretch just a little longer for the only thing to complete this moment of melancholic memories is cup of coffee before I may disappear within the night once another day more.

for “I take my coffee black, black like my heart” black like my soul . .

 

& my words remain scattered, nowhere is there continuum, nor flow neither composition, there is as much silence in this heart as there are voices in my head. It appears, some souls truly come alive when all else dies.

& written words can never do justice, for they cannot slightly capture the beauty in tragically beautiful chaos. For now, I wish to hear the sound of rain lightly falling over my windowpane, rain on me, perhaps release me from my memories, just for a little while..¤ 

 

© .S K.

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