The metamorphoses of early autumn and late spring
are one and the same.
The kiss of the frigid breeze blessing you,
The crisp water slithering down the stream,
The bright jeweled moss with spores and seeds grown from slim stems
Infused, rooted into the rocks, yet so easy to remove,
Soft as silk, luxuriant, thick, like nature’s pillow.
The changes remind me of the beautiful days to come,
And the ones that have come to pass.
The sound of rustling leaves,
In autumn soon to change color and fall,
In spring only just emerged,
Scatter across the forested hills.
The arriving and leaving birds,
Flippantly sing without worry and
Fill the air with piercing and cheerful melodies
Through the rustling branches and emerald leaves
Through the slithering stream and soft moss
Forest Hills, MD
I love The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand. I don’t agree with her about a lot of things, but I love how the book explores the philosophy of egocentrism as a good thing. It’s the type of book that only makes sense when you’re reading it, like a dream.
I would love to do something I’m happy with. I have no idea what that is now, but I hope to find it.
The adult who inspires me most is my mom.