Unable to see the fall leaf colors, I long to. |
Sightless am I, unfamiliar with the prettiest card or the hue of sunshine. So many colors--an azure sky, russet sunsets, the marigold, rainbows... Such images I imagine but cannot see. All remains dark. Now, I hear folks speak of fall, once again, as I have heard them speak before. Ah, the leaves, the changing of the leaves! That transformation from green (luscious from what I know, cool, from what I gather) to some glorious explosion of color. Again, I gather this from careful listening, from heedful attention and, just perhaps, from my own humble assertion that the Almighty could do no less. Sounds are my bailiwick in blindness; yet now I long to see fall’s beauty. Is it wrong of me to want this so? The splendid tints of trees the metamorphosis, oaks and maples in raiment of yellows and reds! People speak often of this with passion. It is to see--yes, I feel this longing like exploding skyrockets (and here I relate to sounds I know so well.) Genuine my desire to have my senses wide awake. I wish not to be unbalanced by cruelty, for darkness can impair. Still, I am reminded that colors exist, and exist in profusion and with such abundance as to beseech the hearts and souls of even the most unassuming creature. I am blind, yet not so blind as one without imagination. 40 Lines Writer’s Cramp 9-25-15 |