Poetry and Writes

A Conversation (WRITE)

*Write using mainly dialogue. Undetermined amount of time. I wrote this last year and just now stumbled back across it.*

Yellow air sifts through the maple leaves. Yes, the very air is golden with autumn. The sky is blue as blue can be. The pines on the path impose shadows across the road. How can one thing be so dark and another so light, in such close proximity to one another?

"Hello," says the dark. "How are you, Light?"

             "I'm well," says the light. "Are you ready for the night?"

"I am, I am. I will sharpen the angles and curves of the branches. I will deepen the sky to a dim shade of purple, scattered with stars so bright."

             "It's incredible, Dark, how in spite of the black you manage to always conjure up white."

"It's amazing, Light, how you sneak into the smallest things, so quietly, without even a peep!"

             "Oh, fiddlesticks, Dark. Whatever you say, you know it's not really that moving or deep."

"You tire me, Light. Just accept you are wondrous without denial or fight."

                  "Oh, Dark. You're so kind. It's really you who is sparkling, you who is bright. You always spill your jar of sunset so prettily. You always do everything right."

"Of course I do my job, Light. We're all supposed to--Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter, Sea, and even Sky."

                     "But why? Why do we do all this, Dark?"

"We must cherish what we have in this time. We must be joyful and somber and angry and wondering creatures. It's really all we can afford to do in this fast-paced life. After we die, who knows where we go?"

                        "I thought you knew, Dark. I thought you ruled the Afterlife beneath ground."

"That's just a myth, Light. The only punishment for those who have sinned is shame. That is the greatest burden to carry. Don't you rule the palace above the clouds?"

                           "No, no, silly Dark. Heaven is as much a myth as Hell. We are not rewarded for good deeds and a happy life with golden harps. We die happily without regrets. That is the best Heaven of all."