To Autumn

To Autumn

I walked up Telegraph Hill earlier. I’ve never seen that hill during the day and it looked nice.  And there was a tree, which waved me over – just like that. So I moved closer, leaned against it and we started talking. I’ve never seen him before, but he said he saw me running every other morning when it was still dark. I asked how he could recognize me in the dark and he said he could smell me, because I’m the only human outside nearby the park. He asked “Why do you go running so early?” And I said I liked the smell of cold fresh air.

I accidentally stepped on his foot, but it didn’t hurt him, he told me that all his life he’d been rootless and now was the time for him to strike roots. I asked him Why, but he wouldn’t answer me. I was watching how his arms were pointing at different directions as if he was figuring out where to go, where I should go.  Then the wind started to determine everything, the sun appeared from behind the clouds, blinding me. There was an ant crawling on my finger.

After a long break, the tree said: “…Fill all fruit with ripeness to the core.”

That was the last thing he said.

I could feel some warmth when our legs touched. And I realized that he was quoting a poem by John Keats. But I didn’t know what he meant or what he was trying to say.  If you know the meaning, let me know. My perception of the poem is currently blurry.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *