Tags
autumn, Cornflake Girl, driving, existence, existential, existentialism, fall, life, meaning of life, path not taken, poetry, questioning life, spring, summer, the path not taken, the seasons, Tori Amos, traveling, winter
Existential on a Thursday morning drive
riding into the blossoming of the sunrise
a little Tori on the radio
singing of her Space Dogs and Cornflake Girls.
Where were the days when the roads were our blank canvas?
When we didn’t need a map to tell us
what to look for
when the streets had no names
before the streets at all.
I think I missed my exit sign
half a dozen miles somewhere left behind
the rear view mirror shows me a future slowly evolving that I cannot change
while ahead of me lies
a stretch of road
laid down by events of my own doing
which may be my undoing –
one can never tell from this speed.
I thought I knew what I wanted
who I wanted to be
how it was all going to happen
but I didn’t have any more of an idea than anyone else
so it’s no surprise the confusion when I ended up here.
I was cruel
and I know why
I know the distance
I remember the day I stopped watching for your plane in the sky.
I learned butterflies are beautiful to hold
too hard to catch
too fragile to keep
too fast to die
and while I
would like to be a graceful little thing
wings and ballerinas just don’t fit my body type.
There’s a longing that comes with fall
a restlessness like no other.
Spring
when sprung
invites you to dance with her
keeping you anchored as her roots sink deep
sprout blossoms
she pulls you in
entices you
and persuades you to watch her blossoms bloom.
Summer is neither here nor there
if you can’t stand the heat
get into the air
days are longer
the sun shines brighter
the urge to stick your toes in the sand and watch the waves
overshadows
the need to play with blossoms.
Winter
well… winter.
But Fall…
Fall makes me want to run
the days have grown shorter
I want to run with every ounce and every second of light that remains
forcing myself through the trees
through the fields
embracing
inhaling
every color
every scent
every last cry of life
before hibernation
before autumn sheds all of her blossoms
until there’s nothing left on the trees to fall.
It makes me squirrely
It unsettles my spine
I want to go
I want to go
I need to go
there needs to be more hours in these days
let me enjoy this
let me soak it up
warm midday sun
intense harvest sunset
cold, dark mornings
not quite frost on the windows
but the dew is awfully thick
I want to embrace it
I want to hold it
I don’t want it to end.
It’s too fast
too vague
too sudden
and it’s over
too soon.
When she’s in town,
when she’s here
you know
and I know
the closer
to winter
we get
the more erratic
I feel
because soon
it will be too cold
to really want to do.
It will be time
to sit by the fire
to curl up up with your loved one
to snuggle under thick blankets.
Once Fall lulls off to sleep
and the dew turns to frost
and the fields are barren.
Once the squirrels slumber
and the eerie calm of winter begins,
only then can I too rest
lay down in fields of calm crisp nights
and rest.
Until next Fall
when a single drive
turns me existential
again.
Sincerely, Lori 