“Liars!” I yelled.
“Impersonators! I knew that you
were not flowers!”
“We are!” they wailed back, but their cry was weak. Their blue had fallen. The treacherous lie was exposed.
“We are still flowers!” they said defiantly, angry
now. But to no avail. A plain tan color showed through. It was the truth they had always worn beneath
their false façade.
“You lie,” I said finally and simply, “Here is dawn.” I pointed a cold and hardened finger to the
Eastern sky as it brightened, spread with the blood-red of purpose, a flower in
bloom.
And what could they say to that? They knew it was true.
We cross the threshold now. There will be no more standing as we did between
the two worlds, looking back toward life on one side and onward toward death on
the other—the privilege of the threshold.
Its magic has now passed, and there is no bridegroom to usher us
through. We shall have to push onward to
October on our own. The great decay
begins.
I pulled my cloak around me and hurried back to my house
in the cold morning light. I had seen
enough truth for one day.