autumnal poem

regal trees diaphanous untold

and watch the dying light

hills irascible

horizons where forevers flow

and fading in the ending back

the lifetime slips away

I sometimes wish I could be a hermit.  It would be nice, I think, to live somewhere where I could do that.  Or to live in a Thoreauvian manner, with three chairs to determine my level of socialism.  Three chairs for company, two for a friend to come in, and one to have solitude.

There would be some nice elements to this.  Especially the part where, if I were truly Thoreauvian I would be not too far from town, so I could still engage in my many social habits while cultivating my personal solitude.

Is it any wonder I love the fall?