Gathering things

In Illinois, I marked the beginning of fall as the goldenrod heads turned mustard yellow and the cornstalks brown. Here, in Tennessee, the order is backwards, with the corn showing not a streak of green anymore and the goldenrods still imitating flowerless weeds as they grow above the rest of the flora. Summer is not priceless here. It is simply too long, and I find myself wishing it away.

I am living in that window of time where the present and the past coincide, and every moment of everything that will soon be gone forever is imprinting itself permanently into my mind. The swirls on my living room ceiling, the way the air conditioning sounds when the motor first hums, the red velvety flowers growing in minimal abundance by the river behind my house because I threw the seeds down last year, the spiders in my garage defending their laborously-made egg sacs, the hostas I planted 3 years ago that have finally filled in around the tree.

It is easiest to recognize happiness when one is sad. Black that is blended with brown results in a hue that is barely changed from its progenitors. But mix some white into the concoction and the contrast becomes clear. Once a solution is oversaturated with a substance, the remainder precipitates out and cannot be used to its full potential. A lamp in a dark room is noticed before a lamp in a room filled with sunlight.

And so goes my disclaimer about this blog: that it will not always be fun, but sometimes just a container to hold my humble confessions. I will forgive anyone who chooses to pass it by.