Shed Tears...
What a shock, heh..."How many times in a person's life, in this kind of world; construction-- of buildings, machines, weapons; "Oh Lord! Don't let me go down that drift..." My logical self--whatever took hold some, of the control and came back to what was mine... "No, I ain't going to cry: I did that yesterday. First, here in the room--Uh, My, "Living Room," of a three room suite, up among the tree's branches--thick gathered outside the pane: One of which, is cracked open and a pleasant sun sparkle breeze is stirring the foilage growing there-- I tend.
The sun coming through now, having risen some time back behind me had come around the building and was starting to angle down the street below 'tween the great old Chestnuts of the wide boulevards. These old large trees were shedding their seeds profusely, randomly, haphazardly--Some, from quite a height--
These massive gerthed-- knarled, and deep grooved trunks, bore a huge mass: high, wide, of green leaves and these spiked green orbs; yellowing now--rotting ,browning along lines and cracking open all specially worked out within some other intelligence than our own-- in the life force we are.
Held in check, this way, these mighty reproducing forces such as these trees, we could enjoy, but as I have infered above, not with out the threat of peril this time of the year... and an umbrella perhaps might be a good idea. A 'conk' protector.
These forces held in check--tamed, we can admire....by this narrow strip of soft earth between the man made bunkers against them...You hear them smack and see them--little offspring, split assunder and those that don't you hear them them crunch as the hard tires of the vehicles roll over them: back up and down on them: And no one hears, and no one sees; the tears, the Mother's shedding as their darlings die...each year.
"Conkers," we boys called them, back in England... "Gloucestershire" County. They goes on, though; underneath all that concrete and tarmac each side; their roots spreading; holding them firm to the earth...and here and there in the midst of the bombarbment season, you'll see a human bow to pick up something from the green and stay bowed and look for another... Tucking them away in a bag or packet, taking them wherever? who knows...?
Stuff in one's head--Heh. This now my main view. There is a mass of them building along the gutters, of them 'conkers,' and sheaths in which they safe grew; almost ground into dust, soon, near the curb and on the side walk: crshed there, by many shoe shorn feet.. Cars come and go all day... parking there beneath these massive boughs, for the food-shops, the bookstore, the furniture store and refinishing shop... or, to have a pint at the pub on the corner go to the post office the drug store...Some want to walk a bit...to the senior center down the other end...Some sit out on the side walk, eating and sipping something. Two coffee shops opposite, crowding the walkers, and any vehicle is allowed one hour to park curbside.
The only bench to sit--- spend some time, say, beneath "The spreading Chest Nut trees;" we oldies, is the bus stop: oblong cubic kind of thing; thing of glass or plastic panes, on its own padio of concrete and a garbage can.. One bench out, one in...
Phone was ringing... mostly I let it ring... the meassage says:
The sun coming through now, having risen some time back behind me had come around the building and was starting to angle down the street below 'tween the great old Chestnuts of the wide boulevards. These old large trees were shedding their seeds profusely, randomly, haphazardly--Some, from quite a height--
These massive gerthed-- knarled, and deep grooved trunks, bore a huge mass: high, wide, of green leaves and these spiked green orbs; yellowing now--rotting ,browning along lines and cracking open all specially worked out within some other intelligence than our own-- in the life force we are.
Held in check, this way, these mighty reproducing forces such as these trees, we could enjoy, but as I have infered above, not with out the threat of peril this time of the year... and an umbrella perhaps might be a good idea. A 'conk' protector.
These forces held in check--tamed, we can admire....by this narrow strip of soft earth between the man made bunkers against them...You hear them smack and see them--little offspring, split assunder and those that don't you hear them them crunch as the hard tires of the vehicles roll over them: back up and down on them: And no one hears, and no one sees; the tears, the Mother's shedding as their darlings die...each year.
"Conkers," we boys called them, back in England... "Gloucestershire" County. They goes on, though; underneath all that concrete and tarmac each side; their roots spreading; holding them firm to the earth...and here and there in the midst of the bombarbment season, you'll see a human bow to pick up something from the green and stay bowed and look for another... Tucking them away in a bag or packet, taking them wherever? who knows...?
Stuff in one's head--Heh. This now my main view. There is a mass of them building along the gutters, of them 'conkers,' and sheaths in which they safe grew; almost ground into dust, soon, near the curb and on the side walk: crshed there, by many shoe shorn feet.. Cars come and go all day... parking there beneath these massive boughs, for the food-shops, the bookstore, the furniture store and refinishing shop... or, to have a pint at the pub on the corner go to the post office the drug store...Some want to walk a bit...to the senior center down the other end...Some sit out on the side walk, eating and sipping something. Two coffee shops opposite, crowding the walkers, and any vehicle is allowed one hour to park curbside.
Get in. Get it done. Get out.
The only bench to sit--- spend some time, say, beneath "The spreading Chest Nut trees;" we oldies, is the bus stop: oblong cubic kind of thing; thing of glass or plastic panes, on its own padio of concrete and a garbage can.. One bench out, one in...
Phone was ringing... mostly I let it ring... the meassage says:
"Who? What? leave a message:
Tella Marketers, beggars, please go elsewhere."
Tella Marketers, beggars, please go elsewhere."
I go pick it up... Like I said, how many times, heh? and what is it...Then there is this time... I goes back to the window looking into summer's leaves, the sunlight.. the joyous dance of natural life in its exubrance so freely given... Yesterday, up in the park... We've had some recent rains... in between the sunshine.. this year... nice balmy days-- the grass so luxuriantly green..
.
"Yeah"? I speak intos the portable as I stare out... "Its..." the voice said... and continued: "She died last night... in her bed." "Oh! Ohhhh..." and I went to the park... it was great place to cry... to shed tears... the right time of year... To stop and remember what the summer was... all the good parts... what we shared about things-- like trees and grass and flowers...birds, water, freedom and sky...
posted by rare @ 3:31 PM
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