In praise of the season.
It's raining, it's pouring...
I think I've started a post with that phrase before, but I'm too lazy to check my archives for confirmation.
It is, in fact raining, and pouring, right now. It's a deliciously halloweeny type of day: the dark and dreariness is constantly interrupted by the magnificently colourful bursts of flame-like trees. Every once in a while, fallen leaves are swept up in a cool gust of wind. I half expect the headless horseman to come charging 'round the bend at any moment.
Taking all of this in today as I walked home for lunch, I was struck by an incredible sense of loss for the season. Some of the trees are nearly bare, their leaves a riot of colour at their roots, and I know that soon the world will become a monochromatic scene, where life is frozen in time and space.
This is a thought that occurs to me around this time each year, and I am genuinely sad. But then I remember that this is how it is: part of a cycle that must not stop. I think about how beautiful and quiet that monochromatic world can be, and I feel a little bit better.