Rays of sunlight pierce the green forest canopy above me on my morning walk. They make me think of stage lights at a theatre, beams spotlight patches of furry moss, the forest floor cluttered with a carpet of fallen leaves that touch every possible shade of russet & brown & gold.
Tree trunks wider than outstretched arms, bark thick like elephants hides furrowed & wrinkled with the years. Holly berries lipstick red, spiderwebs laced with morning dew, icing sugar white. You can taste the season on your tongue, smell it, feel it.
I had forgotten how beautiful autumn can be in England, maybe it was too many memories of summers that seemed to finish before they started, or rarer still those English summers which are filled with sun that you wish won’t end. This late September is a deep red wine swirled round the glass, rich and sticky. I am walking in the woods & it feels good to be here, now.
Yesterday I came across an old friend I’d not seen in years, I was shocked to see that time hadn’t been kind to them, a heart attack and more weighed heavily. Inevitably this made me consider myself and how I am moving along through my own time, several years of wandering behind me, future direction uncertain. I carry my fuck ups & regrets, ( song cue – I’ve had a few ), it’s impossible not to accumulate baggage as you go, on my morning walk I think of making a wish, prayers not being my thing. My wish would be to grow old slightly disgracefully, but I am in no rush. I would prefer it to take an age, because I’ve many adventures yet to fit in, I’d like my autumn rich with wine & with people that call me their friend. To laugh a lot and cry just a little & tell a person or two that I love them and maybe hear the same thing along the way.
Other than these how could anything else in the world be in slightest important.