seasons...

The seasons change so fast; it seems to get faster every year.

Fall
It feels like yesterday I was jogging through the river valley, picking coloured leaves for my scrap book. Green leaves, touched by dashes of orange and yellow; red leaves, reminding me of my friends in Ontario; and dauntied leaves lending memories of a trip to Castigliano di Fiorentino to meet a lovely boy. Leaves, touching the flesh on my hands- my flesh feeling the last signs of summer's vivacity.

Winter
Today I ran hard, passing the other hardcore runners with a quick wave- an informal aren't-we-braving-the-elements-today type wave. For all my fellow runners know, I'm flipping them the bird underneath my mitts. This thought makes me laugh to myself. But they can't tell, so they wave back- perhaps flipping me the bird. The frigid winter air pulls at my exposed flesh. My flesh feels strong, yet vulnerable. It is uninvited, but I can't stop it. I run harder.

When I'm running, I'm always a thought away from a tearful cry, be it from nostalgia, sadness or a simple dash of madness. I've no doubt in my mind I'm completely mad, but this doesn't scare me in the least. I've always known the importance of staying mad: It's better to be completely mad than completely sane. Can you imagine being completely sane?

Seasonless
A careful eye can recognize metaphors in even the most mundane. I fell hard the other day. I didn't realize I was falling until I was lying on my back next to a pile of dog shit, crying and laughing, embarassed to have fallen; aware that nobody sees me... Summer to fall, fall to winter, winter to summer without even recognizing... Falling, unaware... I get up catching a glimpse of my tummy bleeding, poked by a stick. It hurts. I clean the blood with my sweat band. I hear myself asking that quick one-liner I added to my repetoire in grade 5: "Have a nice fall? See you next spring..." I laugh. It would seem time is of relevance. Tomorrow's Monday.