(About being a child. The smell of fall triggers a waterfall of emotion.
Freedom is lost to structure and the renewed experience of being chosen or rejected in the new/old social setting we call school)
Darkness falls earlier these days
Without fail
The melancholy wells up
Like thermal mud-pots
Boiling over
With pent up anticipation
Soon there will be a choosing
A renewing
Confirmation of what I already know
The abyss in my stomach returns
As I reach out
Clumsily grasping for tree limbs
Eyes closed, over the cliff I go
Encircled by perfection
Conscious of every rejection
Life cycles ended in harvest
A new year
But we’re told it’s not yet new year
If I open my eyes
Will I hit bottom?
Oils on canvas – 16″x20″
The sixties was a time when a child would grow up outside. Mothers would tell their children “go outside and play”. We would….oh we would. We were almost feral….until it was time for dinner.
Going “back to school” robbed us of that freedom, and brought the testing of our worldly social skills to the fore. Some of us were very good at it. Some of us simply blended into the lead-painted siding.
Fall for me has always been painted with these experiences, even after all these years.
Photographic Impressionistic Illusionistic 