Cassandra’s Tears

Tears of joy, tears of pain, we are reflected in the salt-water pools we create. So let us build a fleet of paper boats and sail them on our ocean of indecision, laughing at the wind-whipped white-crested waves that would wash over us, drowning us in our own despair, yet somehow never vanquishing us in the end.

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Location: Lennoxville, Quebec, Canada

Tuesday, September 06, 2005

Feelings of fall.

Summer, while not over according to the distance the earth has traveled around the sun thus far this year, is officially done now that Labour Day is past and school has started again. This always leaves me with a feeling of melancholy; the days are getting shorter, the air cools quickly after the sun sets, and the leaves are starting to change colour: reds and golds on the maples, browns and russets on the oaks.

I sit here at the computer, the windows open to let in the chilling evening air, and I hear the wail of the train whistle. It is a plaintive sound, matching my mood. I feel the distance, the loneliness of empty track, the romance of the hobo who rides the rails. Summer is over. Soon the leaves will fall, covering the ground with their colourful bounty. Then the skies will become increasingly gray, animals will look for warm burrows in which to hide away for the coming months, and snow will eventually cover everything.

We are infinitely inconsequential, at the mercy of the elements. Our fine houses, warm hearths, insulated clothing, are as nought to the timelessness of winter and the slow grinding down of mountains and movement of glaciers. Our grand arrogance against this backdrop is as laughable as the fate of the ant crushed under our feet. Yet we do not know it. Perhaps it is better that way, for if we all realized the truth, that existence is purposeless, we would all despair. Live for beauty, for the change of seasons, for the sounds of the train in the distance. Enjoy the moment, for soon it will be winter, and all will be cloaked in a seamless blanket of snow.


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