Tomorrows Fall

Throw rocks at my window
Acorns are better
I think they would have a softer
Distinctive sound
She said

He paused
And thought how funny
this idea
July wasnt dispersing pine corns
Or acones

But then he realized that only
During The Fall
When the smell of dead chlorophil
Lingered in the air
With a slightly damp chill
as plant life leaks memories from cell membranes
deep sleep wouldnt have that
grasp on her like it does
in December

And snowballs are too crunchy slosh for glass squares

He does put acorns in his pockets
And now he knows why

Because like the seasons
Important things can cycle
Like blood through the heart
to pulse
thru veins to and fro
back to Thinking

She was staring at him
while he was detatched and 
lingering in his deep thought

Maybe a long slow pause in another dimension?
But really moments here
Her gaze was inquizitive
She loves to watch him think

Eager to know how in the world
the acorns would sound an alarm
to slumber in July

Its too late
As sunrise
Has crossed over
Moonlight now phased out

do u need some acorns? 
to take with u?
She asked
He did not reply

He just stared at her
How on Earth did they get here?
To this place?
Where ideas float past
With reclusive fears
Holding them down into the
furniture’s digits mega credit

She gazed at the coutch waiting for his reply
thinking how she never liked globilized labor chairs
Stuffed with strange tacked fluff and cheap half ass stitched fabric that can morph into creatures and faces if you stare too long
searching for answers

He proceeded to hold out his hand
She smacked it and gracefully strolled with a bounce of approval
For this idea was a harvest
A planting for time capsels

She gathered about seven acorns
That were collected in the rain then placed in a vase
Reaching deep she grabed a handful
A few capless
But each one calculated signifigance

One for the warm up
Two to ensure the proper toss
Not too soft nor too strong  
A third

Four for the awareness
Five to repeat
Six to ensure it’s working
Seven to hear loud and clear

Will this be enough?
My calculations may be skewed
But i am hoping that this is suffice

His smirk, posture and stare
Just gazed at her quirky seriousness
About squirl treasure
He looked down

She said ok heres two more
Just incase im snoring or 
Maybe dreaming of the
meadow again
Its very difficult to leave the meadow…

His hands full of acorns
His head full of dreams

She thinks of things
That turns the world around
To project something he sees
And she holds the vision

He is unsure how long to hold acorns

…….to be continued…..