Autumn, in many of its parts, is beyond bloom now. And I notice myself feeling a sense of melancholy at the reality of its passing.
I think a sense of longing is inherent in me; longing for transition – a desire for the mystery in anticipation.
But the arrival of the season is like the answering of a question, and the mystery is solved.
The arrival begs contentment, presence, satisfaction; seeing more than looking, and pause.
A pause to appreciate more than anticipate.