“Where are the blue leaves?” I asked her when we stood in the woods of changing autumn, “If green is yellow mixed with blue, where does the blue go?”
She laughed and the trees shivered. A fleet of yellows, oranges and reds sailed around me and harbored in the dirt. “Blue is only for the Far Away. Everyone knows that.”
“But it had to be here to make green.”
“The plants feed from the Far Away and it lends them their color, as it does to the sea, in reflection. But it is not Here.”
“And the Jays and the Blue Birds; the blue butterflies and the dragonflies?” I listed.
“They are merely singed blue, from flying through the Far Away.”
I thought. “Where is Here?”
She laughed again and the glowing carpet of leaves rose up in a twirling dance. “Here is where you are. It always is. There is only The Here, The Near, The Horizon and The Far Away.”
“What about There, Yonder, Hither and Thither?” I tried.
This time she laughed so hard, whirling leaves left bald spots in the trees. I was standing waist deep.
“Those are funny jokes,” she said as I climbed out the leaves and sat down on top of them, “They are other words for Near.”
“Where is the golden sunset?”
“The Horizon.”
“Where is yesterday?”
“In your mind, of course.”
“Tomorrow?”
A cold silence followed my question. A sudden intake of breath chattered my teeth and constricted my lungs. My ears stung. “That,” her voice, a hailstorm, “is none of your business.”
The sun shone through the cold branches and I moved to a brighter spot. I waited.
“I am Here.” I offered as a sort of apology
“Yes, where you always have been.”
“Yes.” I agreed.
“Well?”
“Well!” I attempted.
“Don’t you think you’d better get started?”
“Huh?” I gave up.
“You’ve been Here. You’ll always be Here. But you must try to get to Near. Why don’t you know any of this yet?” Her words were chiding, but kind.
I looked around me. The fallen leaves had cleared the view of a bit of sky an rising hills at The Horizon. “Will I ever get to Far Away?”
Of course! But don’t get ahead of yourself. You can’t get to Far Away until you leave Here. And you can’t leave Here until you fail to get Near, find yourself Here again, but only long enough for you to reach the Horizon. Then you can follow gold, real gold to The Far Away.”
“Ah. I see.” (Although I didn’t.)
“No you don’t,” she laughed, “now get!” And leaves flew at my back. I walked out of the forest.
I trudged on, rested, and pressed on again. I picked up a staff for walking. I pulled the leaves that were still tangled in my hair and wove them into a crown the color of fire. I cast my eyes forward, just in front of my moving feet. And I watched them walk.
Celebrating Mortality
