Warm November
Sami Robinson
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It’s a warm November
and I am no longer a child. I wish that time would linger. I miss the cold– despite the biting frost, I miss what was. How irrational evil lurked only in autumnal darkness. But I know now only the evil of knowledge. I still believe in the ringing of bells and what happens when one does. But I haven’t heard ringing in years. I decorate for Christmas early this year. I hold onto the shreds of my youth– of memories tied in bows onto fake trees. In the arrangement of ornaments I see all my lives taken adventure in a kaleidoscope. But in the largest ornament I see the present– I see that she's no longer a child and that this is a warm November– a dystopia where grandma's no longer here and tradition is unraveling– I’m getting older and I miss the cold. I hate the warmth of this November. |
"Fall at RAL" by Chalayn Noelle Nagunst, Acrylic
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