November-ish

It was mostly the slow death spiral of leaves departing the limbs...the propeller motion in some, the back and forth sway of others as they resigned themselves to becoming part of the earth...plucked from a bright colored past and joining the thousands of others just like them.

November is as much an emotion as it is a month.  November is the bones of summer...the skeletal frame of something unfed and dying, once vibrant and now amongst the ruins.  Easily crumbled and forgotten in the quiet absorption into soil.  Discarded comes to mind.

Ignored. Speeding past and unobserved...the clutch of colors in the ground now meshing into a seamless one, unregarded.  Oblivious.

Oh how you burned sweet colors against me...like the orange of an oak in full bloom, the purple reds of a maple...you caught my eye against a thousand others, you stood out amongst the throng.  In the gaze of one against the horizon you were the silhouette sought after...the familiar...the cordial...expected, a memory built upon a layer and another and soon like stacked stone there was a solid.  Something fairly immoveable.

Such folly...in the easy crunch of leaves crumbling beneath a simple step we find cracks and fissures...weak points and vulnerabilities.

We become plucked from each other with a simple breeze...adrift in a quiet of an afternoon...we fall apart from each other to drift against the spill of others.

Perhaps our last hope is that we might be gathered in somebody else's arms and be used to fuel a kindling fire...easy and fast to burn...to disintegrate and burn quickly.

The way we used to burn against each other...a fever...a flint against rock emotion, kinetic and energized...not this autumn pace, this fall doze.  This lazy pace of acceptance...of the time it takes a leaf to fall from the highest point of an oak...it will finally fall.  I know it will.  It's a law and it's called gravity.

I know it well...the way parts of me fell when I was with you...warmed, melted...unhinged...falling against you, falling with you...I am a fast friend of gravity and the gravitational pull you own of me.

But it slows...the pull...the draw...the sun dips lower and the days grow shorter.  You're further away from me than you ever could be.

The nights grow longer and the temperatures grow lower.  

And now the bourbon has replaced your eyes, the warming liquid the taste of you and the ice...well the ice just reminds...the coolness.  It's not cold, but it is exceptionally cool...

Like the Pacific northwest winds that cascade and catch a front and breath deep cold in the face of an evening...that tumble leaves that were once a color and now just become a part of the sky briefly before cascading into a layer...layering upon the earth in a weak fashion.

Mostly I just miss the way you tumbled into my arms.  My limbs...our limbs.  We were summer.  We were heat and sweat and gravity could give a damn...we fell together.  We clung.

Here now...it is November.

In my mind it is already winter.