I remember once being told what causes autumn colour to be
more intense some years than others; what I don’t remember is the explanation.
I could Google it, of course, but I expect I’d come across a gleefully
pessimistic website which would tell me it’s some manner of ill omen (it’s
often the way) and that would depress me. So I’ll remain ignorant and try to
find the sight of gold-clothed trees a thing of beauty, even though I know it’s
the colour of decay and presages a time of cold, darkness and the partial death
of the self.
I have a birthday approaching, too, and here’s something I
don’t understand. Why do people celebrate birthdays once they’ve gone beyond
the age of majority? Up to that point it’s understandable because you’re going
through a process of gaining entitlements until you can finally call yourself
an adult and freely tell the authority figures where to stick their
instructions. But after that point, every birthday is just a marker on the road
to the final curtain. How is that something to celebrate? I suppose it makes a
kind of sense to celebrate the 100th because staying alive for a
hundred years all in one go is quite an achievement, but apart from that…
* * *
I’m busily engaged in writing blog posts tonight because I’ve
run out of DVDs to watch, and, apart from some clerical work which I’ve dutifully done, there’s
nothing much else to occupy me. I still have the novel to read which the
priestess recommended, but the only comfortable reading position in my house is
at the fireside, and only when there’s a fire burning which won’t be for a few
weeks yet. As for the TV, I’ve long realised that the TV is, by its very
nature, implacably insistent on reflecting the culture in which we live. And
since that culture is mostly pretty dumb, the vast majority of what comes out
of the screen is also pretty dumb. I do occasionally watch the odd thirty
seconds or so when I’m feeling masochistic, but tonight I’m only feeling pessimistic.
So now you know.
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