Man-autumn

July 28, 2009

For załomami concrete wall, everything was different now. While urban residents, tenants skyscrapers of pościeranych stairs, nest in the stuffy, dripping with twilight frames, and paneling of the walls are paintings graffiti erased, here the space is still chump untamed wildness: vines and woody lianas lawirowały in the chaos of the primary branches of trees, searching for light in up above the clouds, just not their position differed from poblakłych wallpaper scenes in those homes, which - all padded floral ornamentation as meandering snakes alive - slip into the refrigerators and washing machines to televisions, gently tickling your nostrils gospodarzów entertainment programs broadcast before eleven in the evening. The sky is falling with a crash to the ground and connects to actively co-existing with the monstrous limbs and wild flowers. At this point I always have twelve years.

Późnojesienny evening falls softly on my garden. In the dark looking for a yellow-green gate with a cold, steel frame rusted in places, which affects the rustling dripping like water in the February during the first thaw. Silence is filtered through my ears, the birds fly away to warm countries, lower flight, and hover for a moment oscillate just above the soil line, the last time to get some residual heat disappearing vapors bland earth had time to decay fungi, the sun went out. See, is - is the key in the torn castle, the key to the place where nothing looks like should really look like.

I crossed the gate is usually in the era of hot, sultry summer, when we all breathe every day malarial stifling. Currants and agresty nested firmly on delicate twigs of bushes, shimmering in the variety of colors and sagged under its own weight and the space was drunk in the countryside and excessive exuberance, omnipresent sluggish decay, storms of hot showers and storms coming in from nowhere, blurred in the incomprehensible circumstances.

You need to know the conditions in these moments of trembling - when light clouds passing slowly, illumination by the sun at its zenith century, to suddenly, rapidly, the air would stop breathing, and the world - disappear in the dark as the full eclipse.

Now the rain and clouds, gliding down, refusing to return to the condition of the July night
and mornings that we spent together, singing and dancing, gliding bare feet on grass watered by the morning mist, dezintegrowaną by the first rays of dawn - and ourselves opychających to immature apples. Cierpną lips at the thought of hard tartness of plums
and is still greenish blackthorn.

I was there and then, one autumn, as now, trying to get through to the lair of the ineffable terrain of black as pitch, and turbid, two-week snow. My feet sank in a sea of rotting leaves, to face every now and then append the wczesnozimowy of freezing drizzle and wind that rips through all the months to live on half his amorphous cielskiem, nohow covering individual components of organisms from worse things.

I was alone. The dark grass shimmered iridescent hundred points, it was the eyes of insects that are waiting in their warm, safe burrow for the arrival of the first frost, and then sleep until the beginning of March, it seemed to me that I can capture the vibrations of their breaths, but they were not there: I alone

I looked ahead, the tarry goo night, sometimes flashing lights in the distance of passing cars, but as if they were single, vanished after a while. Later, only one has remained powerful shine, oozing from the frame of the window, a bright streak tapering bulb, suitable dying signals in Morse code. At first, wither, the golden stain is dissolved in the cold depths of the TV flickering reflections with the whole spectrum of blues.

You stood in the glare, fixing his eyes on black or burość, the contours do not exist, which could only catch some unattainable for thought viewfinder with glass and metal, some arcane solutions of silver or gold sharpen. I saw your shape and back something that can not be clearly defined, I could not understand.

From the beginning, I knew there, and, above all, that someone is standing behind you and the aurorae purr betrays his eyes. In this plan looked like a dog without a home - the dog, who must be given to eat, would not it died - so much was that someone in the longer term.
And then suddenly you could not already see. What a moment, tilting back his head, gave to mute signs that it's over.

Now I pass the gate, the first series of beech and recall, which is further and further.

In the remotest corner of the garden where they are bursting with brown-gray spring, they pour through the bellies ciemnogranatowych joints, there extends a narrow cypelek bare ground. The grass around him are forever green and muddy water reflects the sky of the sky mesh. Swim in the small fish similar to the most terrible sea beast, penetrating the bottom corners, occasionally approaching dangerously close to the extreme, external taflom.

Well, there, with folded hands, he sat. Stuck on the ground and stared at the overripe summer green, orange streaks in the west, the land of loose, rust everywhere łypiące garden tools. They were everywhere, really everywhere, sticking out of the water, among tufts of turf, with the crowns of trees.

His character was the old and the dead: in aged, tattered rags in the sun welded cling to the skin, opinały it all - like scuba diver's Opinion of the body - that immediately afterwards, under the influence of a light breath of air and roztańczyć collapse. If you were approached when a sufficient distance, you could feel the ancient odor consuming the fabric on the inside.

I never saw him the other, always the same distortion of the face, the same outfit: a threadbare, stained coat spread over a small blue spot on the powerful background of the garden, baggy pants and worn gumofilce moving with every step as if it wanted to escape the prison of this monumental . On his shoulders fell graying hairs, meandered, wplątywały in skirts worn under the jacket patterned sweater.

But it was so much dirt on his face that which constantly winced in opętańczych grimacing, varied incarnations. Lush silvery hair on the sides, near the ears, surrounded by full of sadness and resignation eyes, big nose, and plowed deep furrows of his cheeks. And everywhere on it and the dust from falling on the eyebrows and eyelashes, quivering in the whites of the eyes, breathed in the breath, he was everywhere and everything was dark from the accumulated dirt in it.

The most important question I ask myself, drifting through the sea of thorns and stunted pines, now is not the same. There is no hesitation even in the tone of my voice, which, together with siąpiącym rain, constantly mumbling in the fog. I can not go back there in the same way as when: there will be frantic oaths under the hazel bushes, or even the same paths, steps wydeptywanych thousands of residents of my house, the house is gone and no longer exists. All pozarastało. As my mind, in which only the memory remains intact in technology and ubiquitous billboards, neon lights shimmering what rozpierają feeriami gray color most of the city, even the most squalid streets.

In the end I managed to get to a place where gray rattle sobered us always fine gravel - the lane, winding meanders throughout the area, fenced fused rows of hedges and wire mesh, leaving individual rocks. When you copy them to my leather trzewikami - Can you hear me turlając, bumping against each other, and after a while lost in the rustling grass?

Hence the moment is just walking and dense that a piece of space brunatów, bare trees, sparkling water and the cold air just above the surfaces of the joints. That is all you imagined and he was right. Scattered here and there in the bushes below, catastrophically feared ov tracts of autumn grass and generally ubiquitous disorder changed once part of the most beautiful garden in the warehouse full of useless junk.

I walked, piercing through a field full of dried ivy and reeds, and, yes, believe my eyes. I believed that the garden has changed and I changed myself, but far too much - everything has changed. Muttering to himself incomprehensible phrases, recited off the mark, not for anything poems that I have heard somewhere, may be imparted by them on the radio a sultry July night, I whispered, imagining that I'm dreaming this passage of time. Or maybe I'm under the influence of any psychoactive drugs, who knows, maybe by the end of it all I wake up in bed, in the sweaty sheets and ragged pajamas.

What not to expect it for any treasure, had to happen soon, in the following seconds: if it was not to be - I ask rhetorically - why do I feel it? And how he could stand here so long? Sam? No contact with anyone. Hanging out over the ponds, in the groves of birch, hiding between the leaves? Although back then it did not see him surrounded by people - apparently always highly valued solitude, enjoyed her company.

Loneliness implies a degree of numbness unattainable in any other way, as when you feel like you was in a glass mantle, under the impenetrable by anything shade, protected from specific problems. Utulony in fetal position, half bent, turn off other areas of the brain unconsciously, get used to, at the beginning of longing and desiring salvation, but over time gradually giving up, calming every nerve for the final, the great master.

After passing band of fallen nettles, gaze directed toward the last bright clouds that flickered energy remains in the west, and then suddenly I was struck by a ray passive, faint and feeble, yet distinct, just barely flashed and faded now in the compact clump of bushes.

The darkness clings to the light the most. And especially in those moments when you can not expect from a correct response. Besides, what else than a sudden surprise could happen to me? What is left?

Excited, I began to mindlessly follow the direction of light. It's like in the cinema, as in the visions, the mitzvah is in delirium - the images of the Last Light: light in darkness
and brightens the darkness. And now suddenly ceased to be relevant to all the previous questions. As soon as I saw not match the item, the light gleam again, I believed that even for a moment I come back, not only in my memory from the fringe at the past.

The first branch zachrzęściły beneath my feet. There are blacks than there, beyond the line of thorns and dwarf plums. All the shadows, if at all discernible, decompose dead in all directions. They are so saturated with darkness, that as many seem to shine. Shine in darkness. When my eyes get used to the play of shadow, I see.

I froze.

He stands. With spoufaloną fury and immense, though tame madness in the eyes of stands and looks at me, in my eyes, which expands, it goes out, heaving like the sea in a fit. But this is not the same man, in spite of appearances and first impressions it's not. One who stands up and shines his flashlight into my eyes, are you, friend. I stuck to your eye, even then, for a split second, when there was nothing we could do more, to communicate over the program. Now you stand, look and shine, and because of the seriousness of this moment everything dies: wind, birds, trees, water.

It seemed to me that it took a long time before zreflektowałem and took a step toward him. In fact, it was maybe ten, maybe fifteen seconds without breath, without batting an eyelid. Then, when this happened, I came closer and nodded knowingly.

No reaction.

And then took up his brash. He pushed to the back and act nieujarzmionego reflex began to flee. Wild as a garden.

I called him, I called by name, which I remembered from somewhere, but for nothing. Certainly hid somewhere in the thicket, in the dense jungle, which, nieplewiona, vigorously growing, so after several years nieprzenikalnie cover the whole area.

This was the last time I saw him today autumn day. Despite the late hour clearing up. The leaves always in such times of passively floating out or get wet in the rain, it rains. On the moon, burning bright shine fully, is like more than usual craters and fissures, disfiguring his face, as if today is deeper.

Again I see the same landscapes, touching dead twigs, rotten logs, the same who loved our time together in the past, our childhood stolen. I am surrounded by familiar sounds, smells and colors poblakłe: rustles loose gravel, moving over the waters of the muddy bottom of the stench, greens floating on the surface, murmur white and blue streams and bass humming of mosquitoes carry slowly over all.

When wyplątuję from the garden when there wyplątuje your eyes, hands and absorb vain residues accumulated in recent years hedge rope, I notice as time speeds up. As rushing like a sprinter, which is involved in major competitions of the season. The summit forms.

The other hand, my season is dead, he died an unnatural, painful death.

Crossing the gate, I hear the conversation pieces. Some sounds carried by the echo. Two young men standing on the sidewalk. They smoke cigarettes and talk quietly, occasionally raising his head above the crown line: look at the sky. Passing car. They greet me silent gestures, kiwnięciami hand, but I do not answer. I leave this place.

At the end I feel a lot more and I think, "is so many places where I should actually be located - the places where I can be," and thought, these words of mine, fly away somewhere in the mountains, carried by the gusty wind, and do not want back, as hard and far zatargał them together.