Let it be what it is: Joseph ressurection

 Your feelings are not my responsibility.

Joseph'e heart was heavy, it splntered on a single thread, one that drew him all the way down past all the  places of his suffering to a death he had always been. This morning he moved slowly as the whiskey warmed, frost on his breath the half full cup in his hand; drawing his breath, already the dog had fled, through the leaves that billowed and collapsed in the early first  hard winds.Outside  Cold chilly autumn Fightng witht he brittle of the day and , a thin stream of fading light which tried to hoist itself sluggishly over the boundaries of the garden, as it seeped, sadly across the lawn. The gardn like him had fallen nothing grew there anymore. it all decayed from within, firm in it' s own collapse it ha dgiven up, and simply refused to grow any more, like the sad closter of her peonies, that already sat half withered in bunches half way between death and light. He drew on the mixture, the hot, warmth, that both, soothed and numbed, if he was lucky he would be able to do soemthing, soemhting that would shoo the whispers away, Joseph's sad aharvest, Joseph's lost life. The garden sat accusing, the places where he kept to the path, barrow, and heart in hand, as he navigated the near memories of the past, the places where the summer had fallen,  and now lay seeped and sodden, half moldering into the ground, ready to rot all the way down past faded life the place, where the dog no sniffed, turning over the delcacies that autumn, would bring to almost death, even the dog knew, he watched it out of the window as it first stopped and scented, before disappearing again. Straying in to the dense undergrowth he watched t as it moved the off course, away from the tracks. They had warned him of course with hoarse whispers and sad begruding looks . But he had come with care and love, but that had been at the height of warm summer. So now he stayed within the cold of the hosue, and the smiless mornings that gave way to nothing but an empty bed too cold at night. Confines, mildewing  as the seasons changed, and wnter came like death. to, he was going under, drawing back to the half ground and he knew he wouldn't make it, he knew that, he was to be a man of soil and roots man again, a man where pain fled, and dreams, buried themselves in with winter. Avoiding the place of his memories, yes the dog knew, as he watched it now fettling at a thing that he couldn't quite see, yes the dog knew it, and though he ha dcome in love, and care out of sight toying with the dark earth, the dog knew all the things it must never love,  broken things  like futile battles always gfought back. with a viper at it's heels. MB