Autumn Excerp -- A Letter to a Friend.
There was frost on the grass this morning, each sliver blade a stabbing reminder that winter is upon us.
The foliage on the sad trees in my neighbourhood are beginning to turn and descend.
Grey, morning-faced people are huddled at bus stops, hands clenched in gripped sleeves and heads covered by thin hoods of spring jackets not yet traded for sweaters.
There's a certain nostalgia that goes along with fall mornings that makes me wish i was up and about in them for a better reason than to drive to work.
The way my breath lingers in the chilled air, proves there's life in me still.
i want dress in heavy clothes and watch the sun come up.
i want to hear the sound of the city awakening -- car engines and human murmurs.
i want to lay under a spectacular autumn tree, face up, watching leaves fall around me like gold.
To be comfortable in my solitude, to observe the planet from the barracks of my imagination and to feel alive in this dying season.
For once, i would like to feel there's no time limit on my actions.
That i could shirk all responsibility of having to be anywhere to just be nowhere.
i long for days when nothing happens...not every clock-tick needs a martyr.
The foliage on the sad trees in my neighbourhood are beginning to turn and descend.
Grey, morning-faced people are huddled at bus stops, hands clenched in gripped sleeves and heads covered by thin hoods of spring jackets not yet traded for sweaters.
There's a certain nostalgia that goes along with fall mornings that makes me wish i was up and about in them for a better reason than to drive to work.
The way my breath lingers in the chilled air, proves there's life in me still.
i want dress in heavy clothes and watch the sun come up.
i want to hear the sound of the city awakening -- car engines and human murmurs.
i want to lay under a spectacular autumn tree, face up, watching leaves fall around me like gold.
To be comfortable in my solitude, to observe the planet from the barracks of my imagination and to feel alive in this dying season.
For once, i would like to feel there's no time limit on my actions.
That i could shirk all responsibility of having to be anywhere to just be nowhere.
i long for days when nothing happens...not every clock-tick needs a martyr.