With Indian autumn creeping slowly into hibernation and with the burst of gray leaves withering on the branches of the trees, the cold, frigid air invades my life. Standing on the point, my collar turned up to the winter chill, my hands are buried deep in my trench coat pockets tonight.

Of a sudden, an acorn falls from an oak tree and bounces off a brand new Toyota Like a pebble on a corrugated tin roof, I’ve heard it before. The acorns fall from time to time throughout the day and end their journey crushed by the feet of passing car salesmen and patrons alike.

The smiling moon and the twinkling stars sprinkled about the ink black canvass glitter as Christmas lights on a frigid night. The painting has no depth; infinite space goes on forever. It has no distance, therefore no time. Only bodies in motion keep time.

Right now I feel the familiar conviction that life will begin again in the spring. But as I grow toward my end, I realize this is the last time I will look the way I did today. As every day passes, I grow older.

I have often been accused of eccentricities because of the uncanny ability I possess; of being able to hear a pin drop in the deafening quietness of a misguided soul. Something no one ever experiences when confined to the restrictions of jealousy and intolerance.

But then, as only a true poet can express the emotions of a drop of light, today fades into the consciousness of yesterday, while I drift into the promise of tomorrow.
Happy New Year.

© 2007 Eddie C. Alejandro, Jr.