ontology | Orange, Gold, and Green

My hands are cold. Ergo, I am exceedingly happy. I have missed curling into warm things and being able to wear layers. (My entire fashion sense is based on layering and texturing, except for the parts that are based on costumery and general oddness. When it's hot, I can't wear my vest, and it is the most used and versatile part of my bizarre wardrobe.) I hope it stays cool until forever. So long as we have a vaguely warm spell in late September and another in mid-October. It is rather ironic that the world is beginning to be brisk and chilly when it looks as if it is about to burst into flame, I think--but then the lonely black starkness of the trees amidst their firey garlands couldn't be anything but cold-weather, could it?

The fact that my beloved autumn is approaching fills me with delight--absolute delight, when I am not mind-fogged or be-mired in hormonal and situational depression combined. I am in love with the world of Creation again, and I don't know just why--but I am hurtling from mood to mood with the swiftness and irregularity of a weathervane in a thunderstorm. But late at night, if I am not in bed struggling to sleep, I 'dwell in Possibility'. Why my mind always seems clearer past ten is something I will probably never know.

I can smell it in the chilly air: orange, red, and gold, and crisp, crackling leaf-piles, and black-stark trees against the sky; red knit jumpers and hot cocoa and apples and molasses crinkles and cider; wearing layers again and gallivanting about in orange and brown; the smell of things that are bright and crackling and sharp and redorangegold-on-black. The eerie darkness of everything, even day: it makes me want to hole up with apples and poetry and wear skirts a lot. Oh! Rapture! And yet it will be at least a month before I see any change in the trees.

Autumn always awakens the part of me that Must Make Shiny Graphics, Blast It. And last autumn saw my very first fic-writing mania; I certainly wouldn't mind at all if that happened again. (Especially as I have, what, five things, mainly, right now that ought to be finished, and are being rather sticky; and two or three sort of mini-epicish things that have been shoved ruthlessly to the cobwebby back of my mind? Who is going to hurt me really badly if I confess that I have year-old Unfinished Tales fic that is actually decently promising that I haven't touched in eight months or so? Er. Yes. Running now.)

Let me return to the fact that my hands are very cold, and while this is delightful, it is also making typing difficult, and it is also a ridiculous hour of the morning and I should be in bed Right Now.