TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER
an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
& other curiosities :: profile
Those horse chestnuts were skeletons only seconds ago. I had walked past a brooding swan on the way to school, lying ever with its neck tucked over its wing, while dark-green reeds surge skyward in a ring round its nest. How many seasons have seen this sight? How many girls with plaited hair, silver strands among the black, paused to watch the brooding swan? On campus, the cherry blossoms drifted down and down, tiny stars, dry snow, how many things could I compare them to? What worries, the dwindling bank account, the piling assignments, a prosperous future contingent upon academic excellence! Oh heart, I am the most alive when I'm standing within a copse of wind-whispered trees, as crow cries diadem my brow and the robin's redbreast burn behind my eyelids. If only I could always be so content.