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Allen Clarke Allen Clarke
Recommendations: 18

The Leaves of Fall


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George Washington!

It is now midway through Summer and I felt compelled to write you this short little thing ,and I don`t even know the reason why!


For every life there is a season that precedes the Winter of Life. Our works are scattered far and wide by the pernicious fortunes of Time and Chance. Each one of us are like the beautiful leaves of Fall. We cling to life as the trembling leaf to its`branch. Our glorious hues of red, green and blue blazes in its`dying throes defiant of the north wind. Too soon, we succumb to the inevitable. We thrash and fight until our limbs grow tired and weak. And, then, at long last, we aquiesce to nature`s whim, surrendering to its`iresistable call. Our unfinished novels, our most cherished memories fall victim to the winds of outrageous importunity. We stand and weep by river`s edge over lost opportunity or the One that got away.


`Here, here!``is the boisterous cry that we hear in some forlorn pub as we read from the poetry of our fastly dimming souls. Oh, what was that song of the`60`s? ``Ònce upon a time, there was a tavern. Where we used to raise a glass or two...``(excerpt from Mary Hopkins hit song,`Those Were the Days.``) Damn those bittersweet memories! When we were young and strong, we had the will to fight to keep up our beauty. It seemed that the candle of our lives would never go out! But,yes, yes, the light will eventually go out. We will sit and reminisce of better days when these damn bones didn`t ache quite so much. Ben Gay will become our constant companion. Still, we must go wussily into the latter days of our continuing Saga. Then, again, there is the occasional odd bag of bones who will not go gently. After all, as they say in Africa,surely it is the oldest of the lions that roar the loudest.


When, at last we come around the last bend in Life`s twisting River, we will camp there in the silver moonlight. And we will count our coin, to see how best we can go. Will we leave our ashes to be strewn where the devil may care? Or will they sit in a jar on the mantle of the family estate? And what of our legacy? Will we have lived the life of a care-free gypsy, or the existence of the miserable miser? For surely, we come into this world with nary a stitch only to leave abruptly in a half-suit. There will be no time to pack suitcase! Surely there will not be a reprieve to make last minute plans. Perhaps, the saddest tragic moment; will be when we realize, that all that we might have been, is but a distant dream.


Do you look on me with scorn to think that I am fatalist? Or do you secretly nod assent that I am realist? After the leaves of Fall have graced the land, there only lingers the memory of the beautiful autumn countryside. Such were our lives. The fact is, whether we lived well or lived as wretched, we still touched other people`s lives. Whether for the better or for the worse, we will live on, in someones memory. And then, at long last, the chill will come, before Nature throws on its`great white blanket. And,it will provoke us to seek warmth by evening glow of hearth and home. Sleep on now, old son. Slumber deeply, old girl. The time to perserve beauty is now far spent. Your beautiful, grand leaves will now rest at last. Therefore, I bid you goodnight, as you take your final flight, to the land beyond the Beautiful stars!


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