‘There are Countries Unfelt by your Feet.’

Sucking on the Sun

Perhaps it’s the change of season that brings a sense of restlessness with it.

The garden is thick with fallen leaves. The sky is held on the blue fingers of empty branches. The late roses are in bloom – not because I have tended them – but because they have life and they will be what they are despite my neglect.

I can see the deep orange of a Johannesburg Gold rose through my window. It looks as if it has sucked on the sun. It will drop its petals when it needs to and not before. My father, 91, holds onto the last fragments of his blooming. He will turn away when he has to.

I was struck by the wisdom of one of my Grade 12s today when she said: “Everything turns to nothing.’ She’s right. But there must always be the possibility of something more between the appearance of the first tight bud and the fall of the last petal.

Here I am, on the possibility path. I’m certainly not in my first bloom, but I’m not ready to shed the last petals yet. I feel a sense of urgency as autumn shuffles closer to winter. Yes, there are deaths to come, not only the ones that we mourn but the ones that we celebrate.

I choose to celebrate adventure and the death of hibernation; I choose to celebrate change and the death of stasis. I celebrate that everything turns to nothing. It is that turning that makes me turn to suck on the sun.

Turn with me.

And

Push

 If you want to live –

Live!

Push

Against the walls

Of your heart,

Beat

Your fists in the quiet chambers,

Feel the fierce

Flow

Of molten dreams

At the forgotten core.

If you want to Live! –

Live

There are spaces still

Beneath your skin,

There are countries

Unfelt by your feet.

Your eyes are empty,

Your ears hollow ringing:

Demand

Demand! - to be filled.

Ruth Everson