Saturday, 5 November 2011
autumn; the creeping in of nights & the coming together in the dark. old pagan rites and the celebration & revelry of a half-remembered gunpowder plot. the leaves fall from the trees and their trunks glow vibrant red in the light of the dying sun. icicle fairy lights trickle shop windows, reds and greens begin to find their way into every shop corner, a tentative excitement begins to unfold. we come back to darkness & back to the dirt; to an archaic connection to the earth, folding back into itself for a winter hibernation, & with a bon iver soundtrack and a hefty collection of toffee apples i fold back into myself too. perhaps this could be called the autumn of my discontent, made glorious by the sun of us. it feels as if winters should be for clasped pairs of hands and for standing in another's arms to watch the fireworks; but not this time. not this time & not for a while again. maybe this winter will be my winter. maybe i will finally figure out what that means.