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 |   Thoughts destined to be washed away by the tides of life. |
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I've been studying my cover photo for a while now, and it seems to me that it is more than just a photo of what is there that can be seen, more than just three white rocks stacked on a beach. It contains an important question about the future, about what happens long after the photographer has gone. What will happen to our pile of stones when the tide comes in? Will it topple or has the architect built this structure at a safe distance? I don't know what will happen to these words that I stack here on the sand. They may prove safely distant, or they may be swallowed up by a rush of self-doubt. They may be here for a season. They may lose their balance and be scattered by the shoreline, or be hidden away under shifting sands. Perhaps someday, the tides of life will reclaim them. Or maybe that's just a bunch of poetic, romantic nonsense. After all, this is just a blog. |
| Everyone loves Autumn. There’s a whole seasonal sub-culture of Autumn worshippers. There are rituals that they engage in to celebrate the changes in the weather - such as sprinkling pumpkin spice on everything they eat, drink or bathe with. Everything except pumpkin, of course, I don’t know many (besides myself) who are interested in eating anything made with actual pumpkins. A large majority of Autumn worshippers are simply anticipating the one day per year that they can play dress-up without seeming weird. It’s tough growing up and being an adult. Sometimes, adults just want to pretend to be someone else and on October 31st, it’s socially acceptable to do so. And this season worship raises the simple change of the weather and the scenery, to something that has become so revered that it must be called “Autumn” now by everyone, even those of us who grew up calling it “Fall”. There’s a good reason we call it Fall where we live. Things fall. Fall is so simple and descriptive. Look out the window and watch the cascade of colorful leaves falling to the ground. The wind may grab them and twirl them in a frenzied dance as they fall, but fall they must. I realize that Autumn isn’t the same everywhere. It doesn’t even come at the same time of year everywhere. But here in New England, the fiery festival runs from ‘ember to ‘ember. The first colors appear in September, heralding the beginning of the season. Autumn officially ends in December. But for me, the season is all about the Fall. And, I think that if you are lucky enough to live where the changing of the seasons is so beautiful, so dramatic, and so dependent on gravity, you ought to call it Fall, too. |
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