Disengaged
by Jason John Bartholomew
February 25, 2017
the season changed at the turning of the wind. not gradual, but sudden. immediate. there had been signs, of course, hinting impendance. but the switch itself, the threshold moment, was but a moment only. then it was done and we had moved on thru and into, as the before passed in the opposite direction, shrinking behind us, receding from sight.
just like that, quick as a gasp the wheel turns. the attention turns, too, with the urgency of navigating the new. little can be spent or spared acknowledging the catalytic instant. all things diverging; reordering past and present, when and if; drawing an elemental me out of a we alloy at the crossroads of the multiverse we blew through at the speed of light.
“wait for it…,” I say to myself. then it arrives like thunder, our sound barrier tumbling to earth like broken mountains. we were always so deaf and barricaded.
I dust my feet of you and gaze around. flat black pavement to the horizon, empty both directions. an immense ombre dome of deepening magenta and azure is clear as cold air and showcasing one brilliant diamond. a solitary star still sparkles in my pocket as well. not a soul here. save my own. hooded against nightfall, I go on. I can tell the nights here are cold.
