Someone - scholar, drunkard, librarian, laborer - had to have felt himself slipping away into nothingness and recorded that event before his complete and final expiration. Unless, of course, he slipped away too quickly with no one the savior. To be sure, few men put their sorrow to paper before they die.
Perhaps it is too much, the autumn transit that is forcing this man, captive and unwilling, into a forward march toward darker times. The summer sun kept me cheered and pushing onward in pursuit of a furtive dream. Only briefly did that elusive and mocking vision peer back at me before running on ahead, ever beyond my grasp. There was no discouragement, no thought of my quitting the chase, however. The summer's heat and length of day invigorated me toward the continuous effort required to enter the unmatchable beauty of a dream realized.
Today is different. Tomorrow, likewise, shall be this "different," autumnal reality. The change was imperceptible. Summer, in all her robust glory, held on long and vigorous with warmth, birdsong and a good humor capable of lifting the spirits of even the perpetually dispirited. Now the sun has gone; all that remains is the oppressive damp of a landscape gone cold. What confronts me - blocking all routes of escape either forward or backward - is that slipping away into the nothingness of certain decay and descent into oblivion.
A once joyous world of hopes and dreams has departed, where nothing seemed impossible in the mind of the visionary. The unsavory replacement is a disintegration into the dark and fearful realm of grief and affliction. Finally ...
Eternal silence....
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