Someone last night made a comment to me that I lacked passion. I feel passion every day. I just don't entirely know how to express it. I'm so much in my own head that I sometimes forget to experience the moment, and then it passes. Somehow I became overly cautious. The death of spring explodes so much beauty. These warm days we've been having are so cruel, and make sitting in the office seem like such a poor substitute for breathing in the crisp October air. I am grateful I can see a corner of this brilliant blue sky from my window. It will have to be enough for today, though I wonder how much longer until my own leaves begin to fade and fall. Is it possible to capture this beauty through some form of art? Photographs come closest, but can't fully capture how it feels to my soul to gaze upon the bright yellow tree which was still green and fresh when I cut myself trying to impress a woman with my climbing skills. What seemed like a tiny cut has become a lasting reminder
Striking down the mundane and dastardly while retaining a certain obscure turn of phrase, denoting something elusive yet concrete.