Fall

It's already halfway through the semester. Too immersed in my everyday life, I failed to notice that the leaves were changing colors. Suddenly, the town has turned to a yellow arbor; and the relentless winter is already lurking around the corner, its tentacles menaces with increasing aggression.

Fall is delightful when there is a blue sky above, when trees fight to flaunt the loudest shade of orange, when the whole forest seemed to be engulf in a furious inferno, and when the earth is carpeted with crispy leaves that appeared to be the reflection of the flaming canopy above.

That is the prime of fall, a period which is transient however. As fragile as every good thing in the world is, the picture falls apart with the first wave of cold air. As more and more leaves fall, the scene becomes increasingly obscene; dried up brownish foliages dot the baring branches, accompanied by the hopeless twigs that dangle stubbornly on them. The sky becomes moody most of the time, with clouds of despair coating the land, neither ominously nor promisingly. It is as if that time is confused, and does not quite know where to go.

The tension will ultimately be resolved by the first flake of snow. But before that, the apparent dullness continues to mask the underlying restlessness and yearning for a change.