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The Shades

Annoyed with the fact that still nothing has been accomplished here, I move away to complete a different unfinished project. No longer staring at the inkblot of fall, hands occupied otherwise, my mind is free to roam. Random pictures come and go as I try to see things I've not yet seen. The knowledge is missing.

But she knows. That girl with the dark lenses owns more information than she'll ever tell. Something has made her quite bitter, a lot older than she looks. She speaks into my mind with such an impatience for my procrastination that I am moved once more to sit at the desk. It was never a leaf. I hear her whisper. That fingerprint is you, she points out, and those other more or less same-sized things surrounding it are aspects of yourself. That little inkblot test is nothing more than a representation of you. Take that, and run with it. Too impatient for me, she disappears back into her quiet mystery of self.

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