Autumnal Whispers
~point of view: you’re walking with a friend who talks (and thinks) too much~
“Do you see it, friend?
I’m often lost and appear to shut myself off and pretend we all live in spheres of our own — thick, chunky glass bowls that restrict speech and burn ideas. There’s this underlying aura of monotony that wafts through the air and settles on these people who walk so fast and speak so loudly. A friend once said there’s so much noise she can’t hear herself anymore; we’re all driving blind on this packed road, just like she did.
But it’s different today. The world or at least this tiny cocoon in it is in utter harmony with these glorious colours. The leaves and the trees and their barks and the paths and the roads and the lakes — do you see how they look after one another, reflecting the other’s souls and hues and existing in such perfect harmony?
I love painting but all I can do is create a gooey puddle of muddy brown paint every time I seek to create something with a sliver of beauty. But nature doesn’t even try — she’s conditioned by creation, effortless in her strokes and merciless in her rage.
I rather like fall — I think like sunrises and sunsets and seasons — it’s nature’s way of reminding us of mortality; not just ours but the earth’s and sun’s and stars’ too. Yes, even stars die at one point — lovely how there’s a meaning behind everything, isn’t it? I love finding purpose and reason, and it hurts very much so, when there simply is none. Or we’re just too primitive to comprehend it, perhaps? Either way, it’s nice to talk about stuff mindlessly when there’s time to spare and long pretty paths that’ll keep us in place.
Oh, how loud are our footsteps! It’s good noise though — the kind of pure noise that trickles through clear streams and is echoed in the mountain ranges. This is the sound of vibrant life. After books and rainy days, I think withered leaves that impart beauty and meaning to autumn and that crunches so refreshingly loudly are my next favourite thing. It does bring us back to the present, does it not?
The present is a funny thing — we often worry about the past in the present and it’s a puzzling cycle because when you think about it, the present is the past’s future and we’re caught in this miserable void of repetition.
I often get lost in my head and bump into trees, people and benches so often — the crunchy leaves feel like friends who’re looking after me. I know, it sounds ridiculous. Leaves for friends? I would have agreed any other day, but I feel particularly in harmony with the world, friend.
Or maybe I’m going crazy like that woman at the grocery store said. It feels like one of those moments where believing will manifest in reality, where flying and twirling in the air, consumed by clouds seems as plausible as a flower wilting tomorrow.
Oh, how brilliant would life have been if this deep and tremendous faith haunted us every day?
It’s true when they say it’s too good to last. I’ve lost far too much to dwell on loss — grief is as much my companion as you are. It’s all so very lovely. The ground is a soulful brown, the trees sway to the earth’s hymns and the leaves — well, one might say, they appear to be flying and soaring. I feel like I’m on a page in a beautiful book; a page that’s damp from autumn rains and drying from caffeine fumes while watching a cat curl up on the rug.
Well, look’s like we’re back on the road and…..the pavements’ shrieking is quite distracting — I’m losing my sense of coherency.
Come back again and maybe we’ll find peace once more.
So long, friend dear.”
“if only these treasures were not so fragile as they are precious and beautiful.”
― Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, The Sorrows of Young Werther
Thoughtfully yours,
D
Originally published on https://myrandomspecificthoughts.wordpress.com/2022/09/25/blog/
