“Let all of life be an unfettered howl. Like the crowd greeting the gladiator. Don’t stop to think, don’t interrupt the scream, exhale, release life’s rapture. Everything is blooming. Everything is flying. Everything is screaming, choking on its screams. Laughter. Running. Let-down hair. That is all there is to life. ”
| — | Vladimir Nabokov |
The feeling of fall is upon us.
The enticing cold, the changing leaves, the steadily falling temperatures and precarious wind - all of which envelop the season in it's own peculiar sting - have descended upon the cozy shingle-topped houses of the various neighborhoods. There is a phony romanticism streaming down with the leaves, recalling a purity in the death and rebirth in seasons. Soon the world will be washed white; the coldest season recycling life to be born again in the spring.
