Thursday 22 December 2022

The Closed Door.





This was the day the leaves fell.


Softly.


Slowly.


More and more.


And more.


The freezing fog the night before had helped.


Perhaps.


Or maybe it was just time; the end of autumn leaving, the start of winter coming.


Time to let go.


She walked amongst the litter of last summer and wondered if she could let go.


It was probably time for that too.


But where to start?


There was so much; the time on the coast, the time off. The day at the races, the day before and the one following.


The past, she could let that go in one moment; just like the trees.


There would always be a future, the trees knew that.


But she was not so sure, so she walked back to the house and closed the door.




7 comments:

Mary said...

Hello everyone and Merry Christmas from a blizzardy Canada [I know, that's redudant ;-)].

Today's BnB's post reminded me of one of my favourite songs. Hope you enjoy it. The link and lyrics follow:

The Last Time I Saw Her
Gordon Lightfoot

The last time I saw her face
Her eyes were bathed in starlight and her hair hung long
The last time she spoke to me
Her lips were like the scented flowers inside a rain-drenched forest
But that was so long ago that I can
Scarcely feel the way I felt before
And if time could heal the wounds
I would tear the threads away that I might bleed some more
The last time I walked with her
Her laughter was the steeple bells
That ring to greet the morning sun
A voice that called to everyone
To love the ground she walked upon
Those were good days

The last time I held her hand,
Her touch was autumn, spring and summer, and winter too
The last time I let go of her, she walked away into the night
I lost her in the misty streets, a thousand months, a thousand miles
When other lips will kiss her eyes
A million miles beyond the moon, that's where she is

But that was so long ago that I can
Scarcely feel the way I felt before
And if time could heal the wounds
I would tear the threads away that I might bleed some more
The last time I saw her face
Her eyes were bathed in starlight and she walked alone

The last time she kissed my cheek
Her lips were like the wilted leaves
Upon the autumn covered hills
Resting on the frozen ground
The seeds of love lie cold and still
Beneath a battered marking stone
It lies forgotten

Mary said...

Of course I forgot to include the link!!!! Here it is:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bWC4-haeE-k

popps said...

Hello Mary!!!
Long time, water under the bridge, waits for no-one etc etc

Now Mr Lightfoot - any chance that like the blizzard he's Canadian`? !!!

Both could make a cozy Christmas ) i hope yours it full of joy (and blizzard and good music) x

Mary said...

But of course, Gordon Lightfoot is Canadian! National Treasure, etc. etc.

And yes, this winter wonderland will lend itself nicely to celebrating all things Canadian -- whisky, wine, song, and bundled up with a good book! Perhaps by candlelight if the power goes out - :-)

Stay safe eh?

Mx

popps said...

Eh?+
That's Canadian too !!

Mary said...

It's a Canadianapalooza here - 24/7. That's why I keep a stock of maple syrup, icewine and butter tarts [so delicious] on hand at all times. And as it is Xmas, lots of Panettone, Biscotti, Torrone, and Prosecco. Cin Cin a tutti. M

popps said...

Butter Tarts !!
Te amore !