Under The Trees

I don’t know how I came to be here. That is to say, I can’t remember. The knowledge has been pushed out of the spotlight of consciousness in my mind. Off to the side, just out of sight, a memory of violence lurks. I could see it if I wanted to.

But I don’t want to. The sky is spread above me, brilliant and clear like the optimism and possibility of youth. It calls to me in a voice I have not heard in a long time. Here, lying on my back in the newfallen leaves, I want to embrace the optimism and the possibility.

From my right arm comes the sensation of a cold ache, and all at once I feel a numb kind of tingling in my legs and a warmth in my groin. I can smell iron, taste metal.

With effort, I push these from my mind. At some deep level, I understand that acknowledging these feelings would lead me inexorably down a path of regret and pain, and I have no time for that now. I just want to look at the sky, and to imagine my life in front of me.

I am at peace. I feel a smile on my face.

Or is it a grimace?

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