The second week of September and the hummingbirds seem to have moved on. I kept my promise and fed them through the summer, a ritualized attempt to keep my life connected to yours, but it didn't bring you back.
Everyone leaves. This is a well-learned fact, a biological imperative, a part of the natural order which you have come to understand and almost accept. And yet you still lose a piece of yourself, shed blood. You feel depleted of something essential and burdened by a new weight at the same time.
The leaves are turning, it's quiet and cloudy and humid. I'm greyer, hardly wiser, siting alone, in my natural state.
Everyone leaves. This is a well-learned fact, a biological imperative, a part of the natural order which you have come to understand and almost accept. And yet you still lose a piece of yourself, shed blood. You feel depleted of something essential and burdened by a new weight at the same time.
The leaves are turning, it's quiet and cloudy and humid. I'm greyer, hardly wiser, siting alone, in my natural state.
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