Fall In New England
Picture it:
It's a brisk 50 degrees, the sun is setting in the western sky. The wind is blowing nicely enough to barely rustle your hair, and you are experiencing the duality of cool breeze and warm sun. The sky has a slight orange tint added to it's normal yellow and blue saturation. It's comfortable wearing a sweater, and comfortable to not wear one. The leaves drift down from trees in a spectrum of colors, and the moment seems to linger in your olfactory senses like warm apple pie.
I'll walk outside on these days, pop in my Sony Fontopia ear buds, turn on my Rio Nitrus, light up a butt, and just watch 10 minutes pass by like a dream with a soundtrack.
This is quintessential New England. For all of those that don't have the experience, it's a very Buddhist-like enlightenment where nature becomes an element of man so intrinsic, that it is hard to discern metaphysically where one ends and the other begins.
The loquacious interruptions of the inane evaporate into the abyss, tightening the oscillation of aplomb by trimming the ascendancy of stress, and releasing the spirit to Mother Nature's enveloping embrace.
This amalgamation, however, is agitated by the fervor of my nostalgia, and this nostalgia is tainted with happiness and slight melancholy concurrently. The power of memory is undoubtedly influential, but this nostalgia in this season, for me, is almost piercing. It is, in essence, a review of my life piecemeal and totalitarian, and I am my own judge.
To break from my linguistic narcissism momentarily, this nostalgia I'm talking about is overpowering, sometimes to the point where I totally lose what's happening around me, my current environment, to the recycling of old thoughts and feelings. Traditionally, especially in Eastern cultures and philosophy, fall is viewed as the season of change and letting go during the twilight in the cycle of life. This is a very apt description of the nostalgia, where I seek within closure and answers to things in the past that I may have ignored previously.
It's also the time when I feel the most single and isolated.
I love fall. It's a very energetic and thought-provoking time in New England, but it also raises many questions from many lines of reasoning. Consider it almost as chronological ADD, wherein memories fly into my mind with no discernible structure, but nonetheless, are very influential. Often, in fall, I question about my relationships, friendships, and acquaintances, and wonder: Where is the figure that my hand reaches out for? Where is the passion I so avidly crave? And the best of all, am I still resisting the one thing that I may true desire the most?
There goes another leaf, off in the wind.
It's a brisk 50 degrees, the sun is setting in the western sky. The wind is blowing nicely enough to barely rustle your hair, and you are experiencing the duality of cool breeze and warm sun. The sky has a slight orange tint added to it's normal yellow and blue saturation. It's comfortable wearing a sweater, and comfortable to not wear one. The leaves drift down from trees in a spectrum of colors, and the moment seems to linger in your olfactory senses like warm apple pie.
I'll walk outside on these days, pop in my Sony Fontopia ear buds, turn on my Rio Nitrus, light up a butt, and just watch 10 minutes pass by like a dream with a soundtrack.
This is quintessential New England. For all of those that don't have the experience, it's a very Buddhist-like enlightenment where nature becomes an element of man so intrinsic, that it is hard to discern metaphysically where one ends and the other begins.
The loquacious interruptions of the inane evaporate into the abyss, tightening the oscillation of aplomb by trimming the ascendancy of stress, and releasing the spirit to Mother Nature's enveloping embrace.
This amalgamation, however, is agitated by the fervor of my nostalgia, and this nostalgia is tainted with happiness and slight melancholy concurrently. The power of memory is undoubtedly influential, but this nostalgia in this season, for me, is almost piercing. It is, in essence, a review of my life piecemeal and totalitarian, and I am my own judge.
To break from my linguistic narcissism momentarily, this nostalgia I'm talking about is overpowering, sometimes to the point where I totally lose what's happening around me, my current environment, to the recycling of old thoughts and feelings. Traditionally, especially in Eastern cultures and philosophy, fall is viewed as the season of change and letting go during the twilight in the cycle of life. This is a very apt description of the nostalgia, where I seek within closure and answers to things in the past that I may have ignored previously.
It's also the time when I feel the most single and isolated.
I love fall. It's a very energetic and thought-provoking time in New England, but it also raises many questions from many lines of reasoning. Consider it almost as chronological ADD, wherein memories fly into my mind with no discernible structure, but nonetheless, are very influential. Often, in fall, I question about my relationships, friendships, and acquaintances, and wonder: Where is the figure that my hand reaches out for? Where is the passion I so avidly crave? And the best of all, am I still resisting the one thing that I may true desire the most?
There goes another leaf, off in the wind.
posted by Johnny5 at
7:00 PM
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