This Most Obvious of Things

James Zoller I am looking, as I leave, for a way to say I love you, this most obvious of things. It is mid-October, and I drive through valleys, alone, beneath blue sky both bright and unbroken, driving distractedly, despite my intentions, slowed every mile by hillside after hillside of brilliant red leaves, of vivid orange, leaves of shimmering gold against evergreen as if the unpatterned pattern lay like sky unbroken, the impression of seamless difference tugging the eyes like water eddying over stones tugs the ear, thrilling the heart until breathing is labored and hours have passed without notice, slipping, gone. Soon it will be dusk, then dark, the texture of hillsides gone in darkness, the fabric, the folds of color gone black as my destination draws nearer. For a moment the straight western sun, burning in the treetops, strikes west-facing slopes opposite setting reds aflame, burnishing gold until it nearly blinds, warming orange and brown, this whole world filled, unspeakably, with fire. And I, unsentimental man that I am, I, who have been looking for a way, I who have wanted words for love, for you, who have felt, now, my heart opened and opening, who would bring you here with me, I, who would say this is what love must mean, who would say foolish things, I find myself doubly at a loss, having seen heaven, alone. ~~~~~ Next: Bottle