Fall settled in, and the leaves remained a dark green, and I wondered daily when they’d begin their change. As the days passed, they eventually turned, and the change seemed to accelerate through November.
The beginning of December brought out the best colors, and strong winds and rainstorms forced the leaves off the branches. Now, here we are in mid-December, and after yesterday’s rain, all the leaves seem to have been torn off the tree.
As fast as they disappeared, I’m sure I’ll think their
return in spring is premature.
I value the opportunity to have this view of this tree at
this point in my life.
View and perspective.
I loved this short story by Denis Johnson. Without
physically ingesting any sort of conscious altering substance, I felt that my
consciousness was on a bit of a trip while reading this story. This is, of
course, what happens so many times when we read good fiction – we get lost in a
character or scene, time melts away, we are transported to another realm – we become
someone else.
Johnson does a beautiful job of altering my consciousness
through this short story. I was taken out of my room, away from my window,
looking out on the leafless tree, and joined the characters in their own
chemically altered world. I suppose it should come as a surprise that Johnson
was so skilled at relating an experience through a chemically altered state of
mind. After reading bout him, it appears that he spent some time addicted to
substances. Write what you know.
Perhaps it has to do with the simple way life and time moves. Still, it seems that with a greater frequency, more of the authors that I encounter in these anthologies pass away within a few years of reading them – or just a short time before I meet them. I first encountered Johnson back in 2015 when I read and wrote about his story Car-Crash while Hitchhiking. It was featured in the 1990 anthology of BASS. I remember the story well. I read it during one of my overnight shifts at the ODU library. I wrote about it soon after reading as I felt that what it stirred in me need to be recorded. Part of the reason why I enjoyed Johnson so much was the similarities in style that I saw between him, Carver and Updike. I went deeper into those in the earlier post. I feel the need now, more than then, for authors like Carver and Updike, and my reading of this anthology has suffered as I seek out stories by those two authors. Sorry for the little aside there. Anyway, between the time I first read him, and now, Denis Johnson passed away. Looks like it was in 2017.
He was an incredible author.
Perhaps if I read and wrote faster, these sorts of things
will happen less often.
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