Art for Art's sake!

Disclaimer: I am not a hipster.

The trees around town have been burnt by the autumn weather. They are golden, reddish, brown, and white. Yes, even white, like the white poplar near the corner market on Fourth. The undersides of its leaves are velvet (where the distinct coloration lies), and the tops are green. These leaves do not change color, as far as I can tell. They simply fall when they are ready. (Apparently, according to wikipedia, these poplars are native to Northern, wetter climates. They are often seen in swamps, wetlands, etc., and are famous in Russia. Many people consider them weeds, for they need a lot of resources and nutrients to grow. When not surrounded by the rich environments of the wetlands, their roots will become like refuges, like pioneers, searching out the wealth of others. In essence, when not in their proper environment, they are destructive - but, oh! so beautiful.)

But the other deciduous trees carpet the sidewalks and lawns of East Olympia in fall tones. Some leaves age from the center out, some from the border in. Some are fully golden, reddish, or brown; some are marbleized mixtures of each. Some are still pure and varying greens.

In all of this, it is beautiful.

I am now sitting inside with Amanda, my roommate, at Leah's, our dear friend's, reading Virginia Woolf. She is taking a twenty-four hour vacation from the kids to do homework, rest. I have noticed lately that I put commas in strange places. It's a hard habit to kick, but I think I can do it.

So, as I sit, breaking from Woolf, I will update you all: Franny is well, but going to the vet on Thursday to have her teeth checked; class is excellent, but stressful (not a good thing, as many may argue...); I am well, my living situation is good; Olympia is lively despite the natural hibernation of life (and the sun) in the North in winter; I am feeling more and more lately my paradoxical lazy ambition (or ambitious laziness? or simply laziness on one side, ambition on the other); and then there's the comma thing.

Outside again, the light is pale, sinister, calming outside. It is, like all things, complex and inexplicable - yet infinitely describable. I won't, however, bore you with infinite descriptions of the sunlight. You, I'm sure, have seen, maybe are seeing it. I don't mean to exclude here my congenital blind friends (of which I have none). There are other ways to experience the sunlight than through sight. It is felt, it is sensed. The sunlight, really, is not sunlight in itself. When we talk about it, we often include (subconsciously, unconsciously) the smells, the temperature, the winds, the other sights. The air, how it feels in our mouths and throats and lungs. It all comes together to create the sunlight.

In any case, I am only writing for the sake of writing. I have no power in my to entertain right now (others, that is, for I am certainly entertaining myself). I hope all is well in your lives!

peace&love