Autumn is my favorite time of year. The glorious colors, the wet streets, and (yes) fall clothing. It’s also a season of reflection, of cuddling up with a cocoa by the fire and pondering roads — taken, not taken, or yet to be taken.
I have always believed the real world was a really magical place. In that respect, I assume I took the purple pill. (Dualism is so passe, yawn.) Too, like Poe, I’m an optimist.
Oh, you doubt Poe’s optimism? Au contraire. At the end of the Pit and the Pendulum, the prisoner is rescued by LaSalle. I should also say I believe in fabulous rescues by outrageous men like Lasalle . . . .
Shhh . . . I’m fantasizing.
Yes, right . . . optimism.
I’m not sure why the dying of the world always fills me with me hope and joy. Perhaps it’s the knowledge that every year though the world lets all things go, every year the world is reborn more beautiful and full of life.
If that be so, then my little letting go beside my little fire is truly the only way to ensure a better more effulgent life will appear. (And perhaps a descendent of LaSalle?)