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, ____, ( 15/12/01 anada489 ,
/ \ ,_____ (--|_\_,,_, _ _| _ __________ ,-.______ _,---._ __ _/ \
/ \+------ _| ) | |(_|(_|(_|_ .net------/ )----.-' `./-/ \
/ / ( |__, ( ( ,' `/ /|
\ / \ `-" \'\ / |
\ / "A Fallen Thing" `. , \ \ / |
Y-------- ----------/`. ,'-`----Y |
/ by Aura Noir ( ; mEoW!@/| '
i________________________________________________| ,-. ,-'_______/ | /
| | | ( * | /
|____________________ Anada is cat-friendly! __) |__\ `.___________|/
`--' `--'
I walk to the place where the iron fence waits.
The decayed oak has given up.
It lies now
How it once stood: inside.
The sad fact of the tree's fate
Does not bother me.
On the contrary, I am quite pleased
At its final attempt,
Despite the failure.
While I did not witness the ordeal,
As I look here at the outcome
The leafy wind brings a strange thought of envy.
I never tried,
And dare not do so here.
No,
This is the oak's time,
The oak's day.
On this hill,
In this evening
An oak,
An icon of myself,
Gathered its strength and tried.
As I watch the day fall behind a rotten branch
And wonder why I remain the same,
An army of rusted spikes
Gives the long-expected answer.
The gate remains closed as I approach.
It ignores me
As it once ignored my fallen friend.
I work the latch for quite a while
Before it groans and accepts my intrusion.
The gate swings hesitantly open,
And even then only halfway.
This makes me smile.
This makes me think that
Maybe our efforts are unnecessary.
Still,
I find it hard to pass through.
I used to come here almost nightly.
To think, of course,
And to grow.
And maybe to cry,
Just a little.
There's a crumbled gray bench
Just to the south of the gate
On a small terrace midway up the hill.
From my seat
I can see all I care to see.
For years I would sit and watch
The dead oak.
Its leafless branches reached
Just across and above
The sharp apex of
A thousand rusted guards.
When I looked
I would see myself
As I truly was.
How I still truly am:
Never there but almost.
Time,
Fortune,
And nature
Kept my tree locked away
Atop my hill
Today it is November
And this is always the best time to be here.
The color of autumn grass
Complements the colors of rusted iron and eaten wood.
I pass under the arch and enter my oak's tomb.
Dark brown earth and lost leaves
Rustle under my feet as I step
Toward a wall of gnarled roots.
There are no insects, which surprises me.
Only a misshapen hole and a mess of branches
Ages old and seeing dusk for the first time.
In the dimness
The tree calls my name, curses it.
But I tried! is my answer,
And I kick up dust to wonder where I went wrong.
But I tried.
I should not have done such a thing.
I tried and I failed.
Such is life
And I only realize this now.
A breeze works through the tangle.
Brown vapor obscures my sight.
Somehow,
Over the creaking of the old fence,
I hear the sound of a gate closing.
The dust settles and I remain inside.
I find my place on a branch atop the fallen oak and watch
The last purples fade into star-flecked pitch.
/\___/\ ____________________________________________________________ /\___/\
\ -.- / \ -.- /
`-.^.-' (c) 2001 Anada e'zine by Aura Noir `-.^.-'
/"\ ________________________________________________________________ /"\
