Saturday's Allowances
I have spent my day in the pleasant, beguiling company of my truest comrades - words. Speaking them, hearing them, researching them, scribbling them in and out of existence. Their demanding precision is killing me; which is the best possible death for a literati.I have walked my day among the bloody, brazen graveyard of fall's foliage. I observe the decay and pull my cowl closer in smug confidence, resisting the ubiquitous temptation to capture the beauty with a camera. This time, I know there will be more colored leaves, more photographs, more pretties than I can imagine.
I know this isn't my last chance.
The flippant faith that there will be more seasons is the very definition of hope.
I am entitled to a little less intention, a small pour of taking it for granted.
These are the permissions afforded to me today.
3 comments:
It is the best possible death.
I am, truly, reeling at the aptness of describing this condition as smug.
[siiiiiiiiiiiiiigh]
[and a nod of agreement]
"I am entitled to a little less intention, a small pour of taking it for granted." This is my favorite. I try to do this sometimes too.
Post a Comment