In the forest, the pines shoot skywards. The Autumn fog begins its descent, shifting through the tallest branches, blanketing the highest boughs, coating the pines in muddy white, before slipping in between lantana buds, misting the ground cover. Standing in this terrain where trees and cloud meet, watching this disappearing act (everything vanishes, so why not start with trees?), the idea that what we see in front of our eyes—illusory and intermittent, swift—is sobering.
As each tree moves beyond translucence, the sky flashes by like projector film. The glistening of old hope is up there. Ephemeral, changeable, flickering hope. Everything passes. Even this.
Tiny Glimmer: Stand still in a place for as long as you can, and let life happen around you. Make some sensory notes (what do you see/hear/touch/taste/smell?). What small epiphanies (if any), come to mind?
Beautifully written, Ephemerality; the only constant in this world of decay and living. Loved the read !
Beautiful writing, Erica!