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…
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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.