The Fall

'This is the way the world ends

Not with a bang but a whimper'

Ok, so the world is not ending, but the season is. It began earlier this week; shorter days, cooler temperatures and a distinct lack of blue sky. Summer seems to have passed us by in the north of England, as ever.
I had hoped the season would end in a flourish of brilliant sunshine and soaring temperatures. Summer seems to have a better idea. Summer intends to slope off, gradually fading into Autumn before anyone has the chance to ask where it's off to. Summer is the quiet girl at the party who slinks away after an hour or so - going home for the night because the music's too loud and her friends are too drunk.

For a lot of people Summer is the season. Perhaps it's the heat, the green on the trees or the blue up above. Or perhaps these people realise what comes after. The birds migrate, the leaves fall and Summer's bright colours fade into grey. For the majority, Summer is a brief 'warm-up' act - the year's headline performance is six months of icy winds and thrashing rain. It's easy to see why people are so attached to Summer.

Summer, however, is not for me. I find Autumn much more appealing. From the morning's frost-bitten lawns to the evening's inky-black, star-littered skies. I love seeing my own breath (as a child I pretended to be a dragon!), and I love the smell of smoke from chimneys and garden fires. Autumn for me is Halloween. It is treacle toffee and roaring bonfires. Autumn is fireworks, thick clothes and hot chocolate. While it is a little disheartening to see Summer on her deathbed, I am quite content.

...Autumn is coming.

Image Owner: Donna St. Pierre

Incandescence

There are few situations that infuriate me more than an instance where my head is ready to burst, and I've nothing to put down on the page.

I'm sure everybody has these moments - moments where fantastical, absurd, bizarre and intriguing ideas bounce around in the old grey matter. You feel inspired, creative and eager to fashion some great literary work, write a perfect song or pen a revolutionary political statement...

But you can't.

You can't because these thoughts are similar to fireworks. They appear in the darkness, impossibly bright and indescribably dynamic. These rockets and Roman candles are sudden, screaming, stunning. But they are also fleeting. Rapidly disappeared. No sooner have you perceived them than they have dissipated into the darkness. And just as you might struggle to snap a photo before the firework fades in the sky, you cannot sum up your ideas with words as they have escaped you once more.

And so, this is how I find myself staring off into space, with the dull thudding of rain against my window to keep me company. Frustrated and wrapped up in my own fireworks.

At least I've managed to get one down on the page though.

image owner: Corey.C