Trees are burning
September 25, 2013
An unrelenting cold has finally come. It was inevitable, and now it is here. Every tree is burning a warm yellow during sunrise, a pale orange during the day and a burning red during sunset. Every tree I see.
Every street corner is covered in leaves, but no children play. The few children I see are dressed in double, triple layers. They walk around with their parents and their little brother or sister, wrapped warm in a stroller. All of their faces are puffy with cold. I believe that mine is too.
I don’t always leave because I have somewhere to go. I like to go out to see things as they are, because more often than not, I don’t look at all. The beginning of a new season is always an adjustment in everything around me. I don’t hate autumn and I don’t hate winter: I dread autumn, and I dread winter. Some changes are good, but for the most part, they are good because they give me reason to be introspective. Like honey slowing down as it gets cold, winter provides the time to slow down and look at things closely.
Outside, I walk between the burning trees, and the fire envelops me. In the summer, my fire is the sun, and it keeps me going. In the winter, I have to light my own little fires.