the leaves fading into the blackness
the leaves were big and heavy. when i looked up, they were fading into the night above. deep green, turning into an almost black, turning into the night.
sitting on a good cushioned chair having my coffee, i felt life like that tree. with the leaves of the next few days and the next few months gradually fading into an inky blackness.
at one point i used to be very interested in writing. i used to think of myself as a better form of hemingway. writing in that simple style. making an impact over many people. i used to think like joyce about flowery and achingly beautiful language. that it was so easy to write like that. to emote through language. rather than to describe. actually, while writing this last paragraph, i suddenly realized (like a bolt from the blue), that i actually do think like this even now. i just cannot stand the beautiful writing thing (like a puff cake waiting to be smashed onto the heavily made up literature woman). what i do really like is desciption. the smell. the view. the animals. the people. the cars and the cows. and everything inbetween. what i was thinking. and what that other person whom i am talking to is saying. nothing else. not his/her thoughts. i cannot sense them. no feelings in the air, nor about the eagle looking at the scene from above.
simple. straightforward. statements.