as we are slowly getting nearer 

the border leading from Summer to Fall

so many things are trying to keep us apart

(distance which we bridge with telegraphic exchanges of words;

the past which has shaped & twisted us, and hooked into us with its razorsharp barbs;

the present which pits us against barricades and palissades and masquarades and accolades;

the future which tries to lure us forward with promises of faraway perfection;

connections to other beings with their own gravitational pull;

the anomalous compositions of our rebellious individualities;

our lack of worldly means which we disregard anyway;

solitary natures with the need for silence and space and an occasional absent mind;

different origins with their specific propagandas and dictatorial rules;

our quirks and foibles which lie about themselves so as to appear in the worst light possible;

our fears which have such a strong leech-like grip on the back of our necks;

our doubts which feed on every little passing fancies and distort them into deformity)

and yet against all odds we are connecting our treehouses with cans-and-string telephones, and  scary but thrilling rickety little passways, and clothesline to smuggle the merchandise, and vines to swing over quickly when needed, and a very small manually-propelled elevator where we have to huddle together when we need to make our way down to solid ground.

We defy time and conventions and traditions and expectations and regulations and fabrications and we strengthen our bond and deepen it and brighten it and protect it.

What need have we

for complications?