I'll call this a prose-poem, I suppose. A short, simple meditation. It's funny; I thought this image would do more for me, but it really didn't. Please enjoy this sad moment.
Also, feel free to check out Samanta Dunaway Bryant with her own bit of melancholy, as well as Kary Gaul with something oddly touching and hopeful.
Pilgrimage
You've not been to this place in a long time.
The last time you were here was when you were still a parent, still a spouse. After that day you were no longer the former. Soon there was no reason to be the latter either. It's how things go.
So you come back. Not on the anniversary of the day it all ended. Not on the birthday. Those would feel wrong. Too much like ritual, too much like buying a birthday cake for someone who'd never get another birthday. No, that wasn't the right time.
You came in the late fall.
When everything else was also dead.
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| Artwork by: Rob Mulholland: http://www.robmulholland.co.uk |
A hole.
Bigger than he was then. As big as he'd be today. Maybe bigger.
An empty space within this empty space.
You stay until the sun sets, until the chill autumn air seeps through your jacket and into your flesh, until the trees fade and all you can see is the hole.
Then you extend a hand toward the man-shaped hole,
beckoning it to join you
to come leave the forest with you.
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