Experience seems so stale now. It gets increasingly difficult to recapture that sense of delight and wonder with life. I could do this once, but everything was so new then, the changes had that curious mixture of vibrancy and calm that is so autumnal, that inspiration arising from the cheerfully destructive crackle of leaves underfoot and the fascinating nature of a single, singular leaf midway between deciding on the calm green or the fiery red in its wardrobe.
The days then held me close, offering rain and shine, both with such an open generosity, begging me to sample what it held forth to me. And I, I too looked back in suitable wonder, eyes reflecting the spirit of the day, charmed by my solitude that had drawn it out and urged it to reach out and touch me.
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