Lantern Literary Magazine, 2011 Angelina Nagrebelnaya Title: To fathom purpose Neon autumn colors blind our eyes

as the summer surrenders. The frost begins to eat our breath and scratch our cheeks, leaving red marks. The morning dampness of the air reaches to us; drowns us. The fog, so deep, disables our capability to look into the distance. It fades the neon colors almost into pastel shades. Serenity, moral warmth. As the fog slowly begins to ascend, we notice that the colors are gone, the trees are bare, and so, our souls are undressed, left naked, and are stepped upon just like the once awe inspiring leaves that dressed the trees, and too, our spirits. The frost becomes stronger and the fog no longer visits. Confusion, change. The bare fingers of the trees are covered with a white, sugary glaze. The powder falling from the sky remains a mystery to me. It is ungraspable, becoming teardrops as it hits my cheeks, creating a frosty path as they run down my cheeks; a startling sensation. For it remains on other surfaces except for me. It resents the idea to acquaint itself with me. Why? The sugary powder tracks my steps and will not let my presence remain unknown. I am frozen. Death, extinction. But as I stand, embracing my own downfall, I notice the warmth of my breath. My soul has not died. The exhaled warmth defeats the mysterious powdery frost and it surrenders. I see signs of life, of emerald jewelry that accessorizes the branches that merely moments ago accepted their own demise. Blooming and maturing and so developing and vitalizing. The branches reach to caress me. We become strong. We believe that we are conscious of our existence. Renaissance, vitality. The true meaning of time is something we cannot grasp. We are unconscious in our own minds, our memories, I am lost in my thoughts; and newly formed doubts about my own existence lead me further and further away from reality. The realm of our understanding does not expand to a dimension in which we can thoroughly comprehend the meaning of our own existence. This is not philosophy created for various interpretations. Just simple thoughts. Time, unknown in its origin or potential amount, irretrievably scurries away just as sand may slip through our fingers. Time can do more than you think. It changes our initial selves and we forget. It develops us morally and mentally and yet pulls us down physically. One is no good without the other; it has created an unbreakable cycle that we should not attempt to understand. But what remains throughout the ages a question. Why?