Autum Meanderings

I wake up and dedicate my day to the sun that presses on, ignored today beyond the dreary clouds. Just outside the trees drip art like fireworks now, as the geese, who often know better, take their leave before it's too late. I'm trying to build a fire in my heart to burn through the pending season of isolation and light deprivation (and it looks as though it will be a long one).

Autumn always proves to be dipped in nostalgia. Soups and schoolbooks and crunching leaves, and I think it is often that that we cry for, though the promise of ice, and flu, and the loss of legs under layers of cloth may be valid enough reasons. So I am burning a fire built on the seemingly vanished passions of days gone by; steamy jazz bars and the art of seduction, the care of artful language when all the words seemed new. I kindle the fire with smoke filled rooms and torch singers, and in the memory of the blinding flames that burn inside even silent revolutionaries, I will add flowers in rifles and the lonely torture of chasing endless dreams.
To all those on this journey with me, may this fire warm us through this season.