Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs;
make dust our paper
and with rainy eyes write sorrow
on the bosom of the earth.
from Richard II, Shakespeare
Every once in a while a dusty quote from my poetic youth comes to mind, as a sober reminder of days that were once filled with an insatiable quest for knowledge and the uncanny ability to retain it.
Those days have long vanished. Lately I have trouble enough remembering my own phone number, let alone the intricate effusions of literary masters.....
......but yesterday, while rambling through the fading autumn foliage in the nearby woods, I was suddenly recalling soliloquies from Shakespeare that I learned in college decades ago.
So what's my point?
The mind works in strange ways.
And I've probably been alone in the wilderness too long.
This mild autumn weather will end soon, with frigid temperatures predicted to move in this weekend. I'm dreading it.
My walks in the woods are always a blessed inspiration: providing the (temporary) rejuvenation of a weary soul and a rare time for uninterrupted thought.
I'm in a deeply melancholic mood - which many people don't understand, but which has always been a part of my nature.
The fleeting beauty of golden autumn is a time for remembrance....and a somber reminder of all the subtractions that have extinguished the light along the path of our lives.
The golden moments are precious but all too brief.
I'm always delighted that I only have to wander a few feet from my back porch to get these photos.
