"What the Leaves Won't Hold" (Part 7)

I heard the thunder rumbling somewhere far away. I hadn't put much faith in the rains actually wetting the

patches of dirt that dotted what used to be a lush and thriving garden. "What are we doing?" I wasn't sure if  I
said that out loud. I thought it had come out as a whisper, but it could have just been a loud thought. I said
those words to myself so much I couldn't be sure anymore whether they came out.
"Life is too short." Was that your voice or mine? I knew you must be feeling the same cold rush of time blow
past your face. How could you not? "We'll have her for less time now than we have had until this point." That
was me. That one I couldn't keep in.
I walked outside to see how far away the dark clouds were. I could feel the temperature dip and the wind
tousle my hair as the first drops fell. "It's a shame, not knowing what you should know in the first place. No
one understands until it's over." You always made sense. A loud crack of thunder, a flash of lightning, and the
skies opened. I thought the porch would keep us dry, but the rain poured in sideways soaking us both.
"When you're in it, you're not aware of everything sliding past you. You just laugh and go on like it will be that
way forever. Then, one day, you look at the faces of these people and realize they've changed. Everything is
different and you've got nothing to show for the passing time."
A pause in the downpour effectively caused a lull in the conversation. It was the deep breath before the
plunge.
"What are we doing?" It didn't matter who said it anymore. The fact that it was being said at all was enough. The rain was all but gone now. It wasn’t enough to do much good for very long. My eyes burned as I watched your mouth form the words, but all I could hear were a few droplets the silver maple beside our house clung to as it reluctantly gave up and let them fall.

October 2009
entry #4


Punkin, I am anxiously awaiting your return this evening. The little people, in what I assume is an attempt to melt me or at least drive me out of my mind, have begun to spew the contents of their stomachs out of their mouths and onto my hands. Though I felt no pain, I cannot be certain of future reprocussions. I did feel a small amount of life leave my body as, what I believe to be some of the food I had thrown at their open mouths a few moments before, was hurled back at me with the force of a firehose. I am frightened, and am beginning to think there may not be enough vino in the world to sustain me until you are home.