Closer and closer… the creeping dampness, the permeating greyness, all things bright slipping into delicious decay.
Closer and closer… the brisk autumn winds; the yellow and red leaves whirling like dervishes against the steel grey skies, and only moments later plastered on the ground like old textured wallpaper; to be envelopped in thick knitted sweaters, the embrace of a warm home, comfort food, cozy nights indoors…
Deeper and deeper… more time spent in solitude at the sewing machine, at the piano – the slow langorous chords coming unbidden and unending from the musty depths.
Deeper and deeper, thoughts turning ever inwards, my soul becoming heavier and heavier, unbearably heavy – ever searching, questioning – then violently ripped from me seemingly by the vicious wind… and flung far into inhospitable and unknown places, until, later, much later, torn and bleeding, barely clinging to life, dragged from the depths of this freezing lake, it is roughly patched back into me, its ragged edges so familiar – old friend, dear old friend – to endure the same tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow.
Scarred, battered, its eyes swollen shut, suddenly all is clear.
Clearer and clearer… this unbearable task which has been avoided for half a life.
The walls of the abyss are lined with fine angel-winged, spider-webbed roots… I grasp at them – the delicate roots – a hundred in each hand, and slowly begin my ascent as winter unfolds its massive white blanket above.
The old year, soon a stain upon my soul…
…and into the new.
Old Soul Works 