Just been reading my old diary from 2000.....
Tuesday 24.10.2000
Autumn arrives
How shall I know its autumn? In the gilded leaves that fall groundward to soften footsteps. The air that hangs still, clear and enhances distant vistas whilst cooling fingertips and noses. Or the rain that falls icily and swift from swollen, bruised clouds to run down collars and faces. Or is it the early close of the day in a western sky of cerise and scarlet hues. It’s all of these things and I know it’s autumn, but just for a little while longer my heart wishes to beat summer,
Stars
Looking upward into the night sky a hundred stars sweep unordered across the surface like snowflakes on ebony water. I feel I should believe each point of light a beacon of hope and joy within my life from the past or in the future. My life, the great sum of blackness above, that is just daily routine.
The span of a life; a journey through familiarity that must touch the special and precious at least once to show us the world lives in spite of us and every second is precious. My only unknown is how many stars are left to me? How many more times shall the monotony be corrupted into pure joy? Ponder awhile the thought and realise that all is worthwhile and waste nothing.
Autumn arrives
How shall I know its autumn? In the gilded leaves that fall groundward to soften footsteps. The air that hangs still, clear and enhances distant vistas whilst cooling fingertips and noses. Or the rain that falls icily and swift from swollen, bruised clouds to run down collars and faces. Or is it the early close of the day in a western sky of cerise and scarlet hues. It’s all of these things and I know it’s autumn, but just for a little while longer my heart wishes to beat summer,
Stars
Looking upward into the night sky a hundred stars sweep unordered across the surface like snowflakes on ebony water. I feel I should believe each point of light a beacon of hope and joy within my life from the past or in the future. My life, the great sum of blackness above, that is just daily routine.
The span of a life; a journey through familiarity that must touch the special and precious at least once to show us the world lives in spite of us and every second is precious. My only unknown is how many stars are left to me? How many more times shall the monotony be corrupted into pure joy? Ponder awhile the thought and realise that all is worthwhile and waste nothing.
