Blue skies, the slate of cold, becomes an epoch.
We are the willing observers of a seasonal deposition of time.
We have become the centre of a timeless wonder we cannot explain.
But the beauty lies in the fact that not everything can be explained.
A world without mysteries is a dead world that cannot thrive.
Acquiring knowledge lights the way to dead ends of the imagination.
Autumn opens up new gaps in the firmament where knowledge once closed them.
Death becomes a spectral eminence of transitional force, no longer a blank wall of total closure, no longer the terminated life cycles of the brilliantly inclined.
Autumn presents us with this confrontation. It makes the everyday summons a series of cantrips.
The world is full of a mnemonic chanting.
The destitute madness of ourselves.
It must end.
The desperation of our personal demands continues without purpose.
The air is full of the stimulus of ice crystals.
The foraging of cold, clawed hands.
The gloom is aglow with the dawn, forcefully strict and unimpeded.
The clouds, in this respect, are like seepages of accidental contamination, whose impetus is driven by the anonymity of slow motions.
The coldness casts a spell of stillness over everything.
The air remains a mystery.
The world is seen through a spectrum of autumn divided into pure elements of visual sound.
The prolongation of the broken chain of cause and effect.
No changes occur in the suspension of the autumnal rapture.
We are sleeping within its soul-enriching crispness, like scientific specimens undergoing an experimental procedure.
We stand on the brink of something coming.
This is the prelude to another existence.
Tomorrow, we may live in the wreckage of manifesting events that will overcome our current position of containment and engineer our exposure to the chaos of change.
Sunlight of a thousand epochs that converge emphatically.
They raze the mists – the morning mists of ultimate candour.
No amount of hyperbolic interventions can summon the truisms of actual velocity – the speed with which the detail emerges to form a perfect whole.
The frosts of the borderlands lie like a coating of bliss over a solemn intention.
There are so many parallels in the external world of Nature to find identification with in relation to accentuated cerebral functions.
This morning is the confirmation of the act of unity between disparate physical juxtapositions, differentiations of metabolic context, fused through the bonds of existence, through the crux of evocations of sharing our exchange of being here.
Golden bands of blue mouldings – colours that refuse to blend.
But they undertake a rebellious contradiction of unified extremes.
Therein lies a lesson we might never understand.
The sky takes these issues of insurmountable difference and resolves them through a process of inevitabilities.
The departing stratus splits apart at the seams.
It cannot contain the abundant body of relentless reforming addenda to time.
We should force ourselves to follow this example.
We should blend the opposing tendencies in and among ourselves and formulate a natural eventuality for our minds and bodies to resolve towards.
We must be creatures of twilight, the perpetrators of dawn and dusk, within those waking moments when our fears and prejudices cause us to fall into lines that go against our true desires.
Into the day:
The weather injects its cruel enactments of petrification.
Cold brilliance of autumn skies.
Clouds unable to form like thoughts that refuse to be ideas.
Heat cycles are denied the losses of their vertical updrafts.
We enter a fusion of colour particles.
Everything is essentially the same.
We are one collective mood of spiritual obedience to the natural order.