Friday, November 18, 2005


I’ve come to a realization, as I often do around this time of year, that I freaking love fall. I love the earlier nights. I love the brisk, cold days (within reason, that is). And I love how the changes in people’s clothes reflect the changing colors of the trees. It’s been making me reflective lately—which I suppose is why I’m blogging again.

Do you ever have an experience where life just seems like a work of art? Not in a big overarching sense, but in the sense of little isolated day-to-day experiences. You’re just there, living your little life, like you normally do. You’re doing homework, working at your job, talking to people, and the like when it just all of a sudden hits you. For some inexplicable reason, the exact same things that just a moment before seemed completely normal and routine now strike you as being incredibly beautiful, stunning, works of art.

This happened to me the other day. It was a warm, fall day (or at least as warm as fall days can be). The rust-red building stood in stark contrast to the graying blue sky. Next to it was a walkway, bricked black and red; deep green bushes separated the two. The walkway wound down the green grassy hill: Forest green—you know, like the crayon. But I didn’t notice any of that, I was focusing on the book I was reading for school.

Then, seemingly out from an orange amoeba-esque tree walked a girl. She seemed to be completely enveloped in autumn—in fact...she was autumn incarnate. Her dark auburn hair draped over her tasteful pink blouse, which hovered over her dirt brown knee-skirt. She walked briskly up the pathway. I noticed her skin tone, and realized that she was from the wrong time period. This fair skin wasn’t the product of tanning salons and bronzing creams, of superficiality and skin cancer. She was a time-traveller, come from the sixteenth century to stand in opposition to our faulty perception of beauty.

I know that all sounds cheesy, and kind of out-of-character for me (and just the slightest bit stalkerish), but art is often unexplainable—and most explanations end up lacking in one way or another. People often say that life imitates art, but I think that misses the point entirely. Life IS art, we’re usually just too caught up in it to notice.

And that’s why I love fall.

EDIT: Sometimes, Google ads can be incredibly ironic. I think it's very telling of our society that after I put up a post mentioning how I dislike tanned skin, 3 ads appear to the right advertising spray-on tans. Silly Google.