Turning the compost over to cover the new scrap matter with humus, I smell my foibles. See how past injuries have caused my tendons to grow lurching in response. I see the will-o'-the-wisps of my former life... a person'll come and they'll go, but having them do both at the same time will fuck with your ability to understand consistency; to know how and when to depend. They, by their action (mostly inaction), will be the last person able to comprehend this. I've acted since to suspend others, to stop them from leaving, to stop them from seeing me for what I am. I've been coming and going for a long time.. trying to find the fulcrum, manifest the stasis, telling others what I feel and not revealing it. Funny what a final amble through the pale-sunned autumn orchard'll show you.
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