Autumn Coloured Blue.

When I stand outside on a sunny day in late October I notice the weakness of the sunlight and the low angle it makes with the ground. I observe the long shadows creeping ever outwards like a slowly falling monument. And then I stop seeing the change and start to feel it somewhere deep inside that great repository of abstract perception we call consciousness.

It chills me mentally. It makes me a little more tense, a little more anxious, a little more depressed. I’m gripped with a sense of disease, decline and decay. This is the descent into the Hades of fable.

Macbeth has a line: I ’gin to be a-weary of the sun…

… likewise, only on this occasion the sun is also ’ginning to be a-weary of its diurnal duty. It’s growing old and weak, fit only to prostrate itself before the inevitable while we little life bearers blink in the darkness and shiver in the cold.

And this, ladies and gentleman, is not the rambling of a negative mindset. I know all about the beauty and the fruitfulness of autumn; I’m not lost to the principle of rest and replenishment. Rather it is one of the endlessly inventive symptoms of hyper awareness. It’s an HSP thing.