Autumn, the muse

I braced myself against the hint of autumn chills. By chills, I mean both in its literal and imaginative sense. I've noticed for three years now, that autumn is the season that brings the most reflective side of me. It emerges, after the exhaustion of summer. Internally inflamed, perhaps from chasing too many suns. Chases that have left me searching for meaning. When in the end, the whole pursuit from chasing too much, too far, and too blindly loses its original meaning. I write of chasing too frequently and too vaguely, that I too have become confused with what I am chasing for. But I know, part of growth requires there be some form of a chase. And by some blessing, the goosebumps on my skin kissed by early autumn chills, reminded me to breathe and walk instead.

There is something about autumn. Perhaps the idea of nature preparing itself to decompose stirs my creative mind to be one with nature. To be the leaf that falls, and connect again to the roots. To be reminded and to wind down. Perhaps, like the provocative orange leaves, the memory of my first poetic piece is subconsciously conjured. My soul reconnects itself to the season, of when my pen first exposed inked lines that rhymed....

...maybe that is it. Autumn reminds me of grey skies once blue. Of moving along, but going nowhere. Merely because, I find myself back in circles again. But circles are like seasons, the beginning and end mark the change. Even if beginnings and ends are the same.