Hah! The Rake, You Mowed Someone 8
The rains were a drizzle on the sidewalk. Red, orange, blue; seventeen rainbow colours dotted the streets in increasingly psychedelic displays of unnatural diversity. On the top of my porch, on the top of my wall; there they lay in the mid-autumn day of mid-fall.
There lay I, musing late in the autumn day, gazing off southward. A solitary rake, leaning askew on an old yew, old as you. Perched precariously between the branches it lay and lied and lies. Lies, sharp lies, white lies, bitter lies. How can you not know, rake? How can you?
It began that day in mid-autumn, a lonely thing, leaning and leaning so far she could drop and fall forever and nobody would notice. The swirling colours blinded and dazzled, a reflection of the times to come. Broken, unwanted.
Dust in the wind.
I never wanted her. Sitting cozy at home, wending the shores of the 24 Hours, through distant rains I crossed and checked. 3-Across: Groundbreaking innovation? Womanizer.
Then she started to fall.
Nature has no feelings. Nature does not see our sights, does not breathe our air, does not walk the stairs and talk the bears and balk at rares. In the mass of spinning leaves, my eyes reverting from the south, dropt.
The ground, incarnadine, as she dropt, all purpose-like, as if her destiny were to destroy and destruct and detonate. As she fell and flew and shattered all around her.
The rake, you mowed someone.