Finally, I can say it out loud: Summer is officially over. Which means the end of the unbearable heat and sunshine dust. I've always preferred cold and dark places. Once a teacher of mine suggested the cemetery as the ideal home for me. I felt a little offended then, but if I think about it, he really needed guts to say that to a pupil and I respect that.
I'm taking great risks as well. At this precise moment I should be studying for an exam, and yet not a single shiet is given. Instead, I turned off all the lights, opened the window and as I write I listen to the rain and other noises of the night. I live in a village, so there's not much of it. This is my way of celebrating the coming of my favorite season.
Autumn. Read it out loud: autumn. Even the sound of the word is beautiful. Autumn. The season that celebrates death with the promise of rebirth. If I die I'd like to do it with as much grace and beauty as the trees around me every year. (Note: Trees are perennial plants, they don't actually die, but rather hibernate during the winter.) If anything, autumn teaches me (personally, but there's always room for more students) that the end of a life is not something I should mourn, but celebrate. It all breaks down to this: it's not the finality of it that matters, but the fact that life happened. Maybe.
Now, as I reached the level of optimism my body and mind can handle for the day I leave you with George Elliot's words of wisdom:
Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns.
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