The Fall Guy
Nov. 19th, 2008 09:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
penfield"The autumn leaves are falling like rain.
Although my neighbors are all barbarians,
And you, you are a thousand miles away,
There are always two cups at my table."
- Unknown Author, T'ang Dynasty
It was another cold one today. I tried to get away without a hat this morning, and by the time I arrived at work my ears felt like ice cubes. It seems like just last week I was sweating through my sportcoat. Now, suddenly, I'm in an Ingmar Bergman film.
Autumn has always been my favorite season, what with the crisp weather and Empire apples and all the pretty leaves on all the pretty trees. (And buildings.)
Selected ivy at my alma mater, circa mid-October.
(Bachelor's degree sold separately)
I didn't grow up in New England or anything, where autumn is revered as if it's the rapture. But Western New York can be very pretty in its own right, as if treating the area to a romantic six-week getaway to make up for the subsequent five months of soul-pulverizing desolation.
It seemed like a logical assumption that the Washington D.C. area would provide similar natural beauty, if anything perhaps with more equitable distribution of the seasons.
But I'm starting to realize that autumn in D.C. kind of sucks. It lasts about three minutes, area produce seems to shift directly from peaches to pumpkins, and the trees shed their green leaves as if it were prom night.
I miss real autumn, when a person could follow up a leisurely walk with a romantic cuddle rather than hypothermia treatment. But I suppose it's a fair enough trade-off in exchange for a forebearance of lake-effect snow.
Although my neighbors are all barbarians,
And you, you are a thousand miles away,
There are always two cups at my table."
- Unknown Author, T'ang Dynasty
It was another cold one today. I tried to get away without a hat this morning, and by the time I arrived at work my ears felt like ice cubes. It seems like just last week I was sweating through my sportcoat. Now, suddenly, I'm in an Ingmar Bergman film.
Autumn has always been my favorite season, what with the crisp weather and Empire apples and all the pretty leaves on all the pretty trees. (And buildings.)
Selected ivy at my alma mater, circa mid-October.
(Bachelor's degree sold separately)
I didn't grow up in New England or anything, where autumn is revered as if it's the rapture. But Western New York can be very pretty in its own right, as if treating the area to a romantic six-week getaway to make up for the subsequent five months of soul-pulverizing desolation.
It seemed like a logical assumption that the Washington D.C. area would provide similar natural beauty, if anything perhaps with more equitable distribution of the seasons.
But I'm starting to realize that autumn in D.C. kind of sucks. It lasts about three minutes, area produce seems to shift directly from peaches to pumpkins, and the trees shed their green leaves as if it were prom night.
I miss real autumn, when a person could follow up a leisurely walk with a romantic cuddle rather than hypothermia treatment. But I suppose it's a fair enough trade-off in exchange for a forebearance of lake-effect snow.
