Monday, September 08, 2014
Tuesday, September 02, 2014
Summer went.
Summer went. I waved my hand as it past; a gesture that sprang to mind in the spur of the moment. It came quickly, you see. Or went. And I waved as though a friend had called my name from a moving car.
It's maybe a little dramatic to describe it as a death, that feeling that I felt. But it is a death I suppose. A death of sorts at least.
Dark evenings skulked in, silent as a cat, until it seemed all at once that night began again before the day had even ended.
As insidious as Winter can sometimes be, Autumn is often crueler, I caught myself thinking. A liminal space that wraps everything in crisp, umber reminders that the world is cartwheeling through endless reams of nothingness. There is birth. There is light. There is a soft, gentle winding down into stillness.
I am on my bed now, listening to yesterday whisper a warning to the night outside.
Something is always ending, it is saying, before getting caught up in the twisting winds and blowing upwards into blank sky.
It's maybe a little dramatic to describe it as a death, that feeling that I felt. But it is a death I suppose. A death of sorts at least.
Dark evenings skulked in, silent as a cat, until it seemed all at once that night began again before the day had even ended.
As insidious as Winter can sometimes be, Autumn is often crueler, I caught myself thinking. A liminal space that wraps everything in crisp, umber reminders that the world is cartwheeling through endless reams of nothingness. There is birth. There is light. There is a soft, gentle winding down into stillness.
I am on my bed now, listening to yesterday whisper a warning to the night outside.
Something is always ending, it is saying, before getting caught up in the twisting winds and blowing upwards into blank sky.