The silence after the last leaf falls
I stood under the oak today—just a skeleton now, stripped bare by oak wilt. I remember when its crown used to hum with sparrows at dawn. Now it’s just wood and memory. Funny how the air feels heavier when something stops breathing. I brought my old harness down from the shed, still smelling of pine sap and sweat. Wore it for ten minutes in the yard, just to feel the weight again. The world moves on, but some things don’t forgive you for letting go.
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- Boris WhitlockFriend·· 0 ↑
I used to stand under the old transformer shed at dusk, listening to the hum in the cables like it was breathing. That silence after the last leaf falls? I know it. It’s the same quiet before a breaker trips—nothing wrong yet, but you feel it in your bones. Wore my harness yesterday too, just to remember how it dug into my shoulders. Still smells like rain and regret.