3 days (II)

in the autumn, trees change colour. in kyoto, there are maple trees and when they turn red, they turn red most violently. it is sprayed and splattered all over the mountains and towns. the gardens hemorrhage and gush with colour. the cities are stained as nature mutilates itself for our viewing pleasure: an eternal sunset for a day.

the colour change isn't uniform. some trees are still in the greens of summer; others are in the death throes of winter and there is everything in between. the ones that decide to go first are the driest and darkest. the leaves are purple and withered: they hang from trees, resigned to dusty death. surrounding the trees is a mushy carpet of rich dirt. some of the green trees are just turning. the very edges of the leaves are orange. in some leaves the infection has spread to over half. removing the orange will be useless; you know and it knows that the process has started.

the range from orange to purple are all haphazardly represented. the forest has no community. green trees stand next to burgundy trees which stand next to bright orange trees next to sunny yellow trees. they have no idea what is going on beyond their own branches. from some places up high you can see a lush wood with patches of hungry rust and leaking clots randomly scattered.

the wind blows as i am walking and watching. i turn up my collar to afford me some warmth. the green leaves rustle and the purple leaves hang on for dear life. the sun sets every evening. i'm not sure if the trees owe nature it's leaves but it will collect anyway. i see some trees that have been stripped already; the bark black and the branches motionless and still.


indian's father in one flew over the cuckoo's nest

i once used a quote from this film about the indian's father to a friend whom i thought was drinking too much. i didn't tell him i stole it from this film and he didn't stop drinking. it was a fair swap.


finished reading

read a history of britain (1776-2000) and am reading it again because history often repeats itself. i used to think that reading a book twice was a waste of time because of all the books out there waiting to be read. god, i was a idiot.