It was a summer evening,
with a flicker in the western sky
and cicadas blurring out the remaining sound
of the oncoming night....
I stepped out into the swelter
with an additional chore of mopping my brow
when time disappeared.

A season later,
time was revived,
cool crisp air and the smell of falling crispy leaves,
cascading colors
dieing a soon death.
Briefly, consciousness returned,
but the grayness of the upcoming winter lay itself upon me
with the curse of bitter coldness dangling from the fray.

Seasons pass me along,
tossing me like a leaf in a current.
One year, ten years, a lifetime is past.
Life is meaningful
only if it is held near to the heart,
but stashed in a cupboard,
it drains away.