It's Saturday. Should be the time that I try to make a dent in the homework I have. I'm not doing that. It is getting harder and harder to do the work I need to do for school. I just want to go out, find something new, and explore. Time to meet people that can have whatever misconceptions they want about me, and I wouldn't care. Why? I've never met them before, so why not? Sounds good. I guess I don't care what misconceptions people I know have of me, but it complicates relationships too easily to not care completely.
Out the window there are fluffy, brilliant clouds snailing across the sky. They move so slowly, the clouds, with not a care in the world. Not that they could have a care, since they are clouds, but that isn't the point. In graceful movement that is as slow as molasses, the clouds look down upon everything there is to see--ever. I'm just a little jealous.
It finally feels like fall here. You know, that time where melancholy encroaches upon every tree that blows in the wind and every leaf that falls to the ground, where it's not supposed to be. I'm convinced my senses heighten at this time of the year. I smell everything in the air as a breeze blows by me. My fingers and toes start to grow colder with each passing day. It is slightly debilitating, but I secretly love it. Colors seem to be more saturated and richer than any other time of the year and there's that indescribable feeling I get when I see birds take off, flying away for winter, together.
It's also the time where all of nature is getting ready for death, literally or symbolically, and waiting for the new life that's going to come. Maybe that is why everything seems so melancholy.
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