I am shuffling through the leaves, by the river, kicking them up as I go forward. I am also kicking them around in my head. The things that I have been storing for awhile now. My fathers death, saying good bye to my sister and her children. Watching friends go back out, and come back in.

I am reminded of a suitcase full of once crisp papers, full of information. Over time the papers start to fade, and fall apart. The words are hard to see, or read, but the information is still there. It has filtered through, into my heart. It colours all that I do, say, and how I act.

As my heart beats, I do my best to accept the joy, pain, and colour of my life. I walk along the river, looking at the hues, and thinking what beauty. The reds, yellows, greens, rust , grey, and I remember how my palate used to consist of three colours, black, white, and red. No room for failure, or uncertainty. You were either with me, or against me. The red was anger. I had so much in my life. It ate me till there was nothing else.

I am sitting in a barbers chair talking about how I wanted to reach out my hand and stop my fathers faltering breath, after sitting there watching him die for seven days. I have tears running down my face. I have  room for doubt in my mind today, and the anger is leaking out of my eyes.