Disappearing Act

Of all the thoughts racing through my mind in the last five minutes drying myself off after an afternoon shower, I held on to nothing. I’ve no idea what certifications I’ve acquired. We move on and take other peoples’ places. There will come the time when I walk through this door and cannot walk right in as if I live here.

Most of us are just visiting this planet but still some belong here, and don’t go much beyond the earth and air, fire and rain when it’s their turn to die. I remain unsure of my destiny.

The only rush I’m in is to move to Earlysville Forest. My focus is on unpacking all the moved boxes. And once settled, figuring out how to configure the gardens. There is no golden beauty at the top of these steps I trudge in dreams of ancient castle towers, yet I continue.

Where I live on this planet turns away from the sun, rotating me and my fellow citizens into darkness, another night filled with wonder, a little attempt at capturing some worthy meaning. The last angle of light blinds me, so I turn away too, but just for a minute or two.

Soon I’ll be leaving this bit of earth and moving a few hundred miles south. I’ll see what powers I lose, what new ones I might gain.

Meanwhile I sit on the back deck among the gold leaved trees and the bright oranges and red ones among them. In this moment of forever, the neighbor’s dog comes out and barks. It’s looking right at me. I point skyward at the prop-plane passing overhead, my intrusion sucked up by its wing glint of sunlight. The dog goes back around the corner.

This entry was posted in poetry.

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