Turning to Fall,
The spaces between dream & memory
Begin to blur – gaps in fabric of time.
How like an old photograph, that loses its colour as details shift, sharpening here and dissolving there, the memory. We re-weave the moments of our lives, filling the worn patches with what was and what we wish was true. The seasons turn, the lines between each become shades that call to us in echoes of familiar voices and vague melodies tugging at our emotions.
Old photograph turns,
Falling, to be picked up,
Drying leaf, it seems –
An illusive reverie.
Days, like old shoes, shuffle on.