Swing sets and slides abandoned. No riotous gambols at the monkey bars. No game of tag in the field. I sit across from the old playground watching an autumnal breeze shuffle some browned leaves about in a listless effort, but the heart’s gone out of all of us. Even nature herself has been cut short, it seems. She, as we all are, is stunned. No one knows what to do. Nothing feels natural.
It is said, in myth, that Zeus took fire away from man as a punishment. Prometheus had to steal it back for us. What mountain? What Titan can ascend? Where has the knowledge gone? Why are there no children? No kittens nor puppies. No lambs or calves. Autumn brought no flourishing, but only sudden rot.
Where has the pied piper taken them? And should we not offer him seven times what we owe? Such a year for funerals, such small caskets for those stillborn, and I see no one at the monkey bars.
Tale Told 