Autumn

Unclear on the concept

Corin received a thank-you note in the mail today for a friend's birthday party gift. The four-year-old had drawn a picture in purple marker of two curly-haired stick figures, which we assumed to be the birthday girl and Corin, both who have curly hair. But when we suggested this to Corin, he burst out in tears, seriously upset.

Once we got him calmed down enough to speak, he finally told us what was wrong:

"I'm not purple! I'm not purple!"

Cut short

There's a story you tell yourself,
a narrative of your life
that is braided together out of single, tenuous strands.

As you grow, learn, and age,
the thread gets stronger, reinforced —

to the point where you see not only where you've been
but also where you're going, the story's end.

Except — you'll never get there.

The rope will snap, the story unravel,
the fiction shown up as fraud. Left with nothing
but a handful of lies —

grasping, gripping, hoping, flailing, drowning in freefall.