From deep inside I feel the coming of winter. That time of magnificent transition in the northeast part of America is autumn. It has a unique scent and color palette; the feel of the air on skin is prickles a ripple of events in the body that resonate with some ancient, primal programming that whispers of endings and decay. And with it, for me at least, comes a rush of melancholy swirling around all those things that I’ve lost in this short life.
Walking through the woods I can feel it. As the cycle of the season rolls on we head to the quiet death of winter.
Modern life has certainly masked those whispers making it possible to be deaf to them completely. Ample food, shelter and clothes challenge even the most bitter weather. I confess my own guilt and reliance on technology to blunt the lessons programmed by DNA for survival — triggered by the coming of autumn.Continue Reading