To burn or to fade

The flowers are wilted but give off some color still. The morning is damp, the first time in 50 days. You can hear the earth drink, the birds cry, the gutters trickle. All is still, a bough dips under the weight of it. Petals drop like tears, like party favors.

When it is my time let me fade into the couch and go slowly like a leaf curling in on itself, unnoticed, indistinct. Not the drama of going out in a burst, but to fade out like a long sound cue. No credits, take the house lights up slow.



Categories: prose, writing

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13 replies

  1. Reblogged this on Walking the Rails and commented:
    I hear you. Not sure I want to fold up like a leaf, but I am with you on turning down the drama.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Yes, much better to go out predictably and at the right time rather than to die suddenly at 55 and shock everyone. A friend just did this. I prefer a time many years from now with two people talking and one says “oh, did Jeff die, I didn’t remember that.” You know… a non-event.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I feel resistant to this, the slow fade, settle into the ol’ settee, couched in terms of gentle acceptance, but a really nice piece of writing.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. This is too nicely written to be called provocative, but it is thought provoking. Do I go out with Coltrane soaring, honking, crying, beating, weeping, spinning sounds of raffia and gold into a hypnotic spell that might just help to conjure a soul from this husk? Maybe.
    If so, I hope Z is there to turn the volume down when he’s done with me.
    Cheers, yes Cheers.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Atomic Rooster’s “Death walks behind you” at my wake. That should clear the room. 😂

    Liked by 1 person

  6. That’s a beautiful wish – to go like leaf folding in on itself- yeah, I could go for that!

    Liked by 1 person

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