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Before saying goodbye

My autumn hol­i­days are already no more than the impal­pa­ble dust of an atom. The work has resumed its rights, occu­pies my mind beyond what I would have liked, aban­don­ing writ­ing too much.

I have hard­ly seen the autumn go by at all. Already hav­ing a ten­den­cy to be a her­mit, the con­fine­ment only encour­ages me to remain wise­ly in my lair. Luck­i­ly I have my neigh­bors with whom I share meals and some of the evening.

Dur­ing my rare errands, I gleaned a few pho­tos, a dead leaf, very beau­ti­ful in the zen­i­tude of its pur­pose. As a farewell to autumn, I had promised myself to describe it and phi­los­o­phize about its frac­tal beau­ty and the patient geom­e­try it shares with the uni­verse. Order exists even if it is made of ran­dom­ness and chaos.

A few days lat­er, anoth­er leaf seemed to want to melt into the cement of the pave­ment. Geo­met­ri­cal­ly as beau­ti­ful as the first one, humbly clos­er to what we all are, veins and blood of passage.

Final­ly, the ghost­ly pres­ence of the col­ors of autumn, at night, illu­mi­nat­ed by any light.

I had to write it down, emit pho­tons, thoughts, a breath. To say good­bye like lovers who will no longer speak to each oth­er, and to love the tomor­rows that will end up singing better.

This year is not over yet. We keep the hope that our days are num­bered and that the next sea­sons will bring a lit­tle nor­mal­i­ty back into our hours.

Times change, have always changed. We must devel­op an aware­ness of it, make a dis­ci­pline of it, feel the flame in our­selves, this spark that we all are, then also these tyran­ni­cal and jovial fires of the universe.

We have to rein­vent our­selves or find prayers, devoid of priests and books. Only the breath of our con­science excites the blaze of mysteries.

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