23 November 2010

Work in progress

I have been attempting more creative writing lately. I will post the works in progress here.

Fall is always the worst. & I used to like it the best. Out of all the other seasons. Now I realize that I am surrounded by death wherever I go. Dramatics. The corpses of former tree tresses lie; fallen soldiers next to former friends; yellow and brittle.

In the distance, a motorized and mechanized vehicle echoes throughout my little forest shelter. Sounds of jack-hammering or cement-mixing or whatevering interrupt the leaf rustling, deeply affecting my mood. These sounds mimic the actions of my heart: burying, pilfering, digging, laying down a new foundation.

A grand tree stands in front of me, proud and at ease. A yawning mouth of a knot blemishes the otherwise remarkable bark. Wooden arms jut out with fingers outstretched. Hard green bristles poke out of its skin, varying in color; the leaves mimic the colors of the earth: green, brown, yellow. A punk rock color combination of tree hair. Extending farther into the sky, I look upward into the grey and cloudless sky. Dull. Vast but colorless, a reflection of my insides. I'm here but not here. Form but formless. I wish I could evaporate into the ether of the sky and float away from the muddy ground sprinkled with yellowed bodies. The bodies shed from the trees when no longer needed. Cast away, shucked, discarded. Away.

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