On some trees there are reds and browns but they have not consumed how alive everything feels.
And yet – does the external mirror the internal? I feel happy, but I also feel thoughtless. This has been the case since August – there hasn’t been genuine reflection on issues and new thought.
Just ideas, and I feel like I’m talking myself into something as opposed to being appropriately critical.
“Beauty is nature’s fact” says Dickinson, and I wonder if beauty is not only necessitated but what is necessary is itself beautiful. If that is the case, let the consumption come, let the ugliness begin. I have been seduced, and life is too short for all of us for the truth to be defined only by what mesmerizes and fades before our very eyes.
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