One Visceral Morning

rupple-ish, rupplish, rupple blog, blog, poetry, creative writing

There are moments that stand out so clearly I remember specifics I cannot fully describe.

Like the color of the yard through the chill frosted kitchen window.

It looked like it was misty outside though it was clearly just the fog on the window. The sun rising for hours at this point was just starting its gradual turn back towards the horizon, showering the slowly changing leaves in golden light.

And how could I forget the feel and smell of the air. 

Crisp, clean and fresh. A vigor in the wind and liveliness in the scent of fallen pine needles, damp moss and coming change. I could almost taste the weather.

Normally, I could smell an incoming storm but in autumn, the trademark scent becomes lost in all of the change in the atmosphere. I could tell a storm was coming because the sky was menacing beyond the trees in our yard.

I knelt down to put my palm to the Earth and feel its power.

Restoration came upon me and I knew how important it was to record everything about this moment.

The steam rising from my mug of coffee. The color of the leaves raked into neat piles around the yard. The discomfort of my decade old work boots. My left shoulder aching on and off again. The warmth in my chest. The anticipation of the storm in my heart.

I knew it was coming but I didn’t prepare…

Silent, Adolescence:

The silence is broken as a solemn drop of rain slowly dribbles off a lovely autumn leaf. 
The leaf shakes ever so gently as it returns to its natural state. 
The bold drop plants itself into the lake below,
Drip.

Ripples ignite the motionless lake and shake the atmosphere.
All seems calm on this beautiful day yet a storm is brewing.
My heart silently pounds within the confines of my chest.
As she comes nearer I cannot control the volume of its metronomic beating,
Thud thud.

A knot unconsciously forms in the back of my throat as my breathing becomes more erratic. 
The silence has again become adolescent, everlasting like the youth we once had.
Footsteps become clearer and she sits down next to me.
The silence only disrupted by my vehement heart,
Thud thud

What’s next is unknown and the anxiety is controlling me.
Seconds tick on like hours as our silent breathing is in harmony,
Thud thud.

Then a silent look comes up from her eye and our existence is whole.

Thud thud.

She says hello.

Jack Rupple

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