November 16th, 2004

rudisuhli_demon of love


I think I've let my diet get too carb-heavy. For the last couple of days, I've been getting that "creature from Alien about to burst from my chest" feeling. The severe reduction in exercise since my schedule got disrupted isn't helping, I'm sure. One does not take long walks around this place by night. The beasts disapprove.

The physical discomfort makes it difficult for me to concentrate. My brain would prefer to be disembodied, no doubt. It hates distractions of every sort. Its ideal state would likely be to live in a jar. When my back starts acting up, I sometimes think jar life wouldn't be so bad. I'd undoubtedly miss being able to pet the cat, though.

Earlier, I heard a wind rising, but it only lasted a few minutes, ending even before I had a chance to get outdoors. This is the best time of year for a windstorm, as there is such an abundance of leaves for it to strew about and pile into great heaps against the fences. Equally enjoyable would be a wind to blow through my head, and stir some thoughts. I'm feeling curiously blank. It's that stupid beast from Alien.
caillebotte_man at his window

Soft Light

As the year fails, the waxing crescent moon hides among the trees, its dispersed light reaching places that will be shadowed later in the lunar cycle. There is a softness to these evenings, countering the autumn air's chill, and I am invited to linger outdoors, breathing the season's subtle mingling of freshness and decay. The pungent mulch now forming where fallen leaves are strewn is redolent of both the spring which is gone and that which is promised. The grass, rejuvenated by the early rains, is tender beneath the blanket of leaves, and the diminished deciduous canopy reveals the stars that summer abundance recently hid. Each season has its uses and its forms, and the autumn evening is filled with reminders of them all. Preparing for its winter nap, the land reveals both the transience of beauty and the beauty of transience. The dew-tipped pine needles shimmer with pale moonlight, as insubstatial as passing time.