Fall and Fog

I breathe in as I leave the cafeteria. I remember this smell, though it has been a year. It is the smell of heat turning on again, for the first time in a long time. It’s the smell of stale fire, and it would warm me, but I have to keep going. I walk outside; the air is heavy with fog. It is the first morning I can see my breath, so I breathe out.

The steam from my tea dances ahead of me, offering a spritely path for me to follow. Though they’ve probably been there a long time, I notice spider webs. On the bushes and between fence poles, they glisten. The rest of the color in the world is subdued by the morning fog, but the spider webs, usually invisible, are enhanced by it. I think about pulling out my phone to take a picture, but my books fill my arms. I don’t want to spill my tea, and I don’t know exactly what I’d be capturing. What is it about Fall that we so love? I wonder and I don’t automatically think of pumpkins and candy corn (though I love both these magical things).

I think instead of the world dying, of things growing cold, of fog leaving images distorted. This wasn’t a sad thought; it was a moment, simple and quick while I walked to class, in which I worshiped.

The world is dying. We’re all passing away. Our days are numbered until stale fire and sweeping fog wash us with death. I smile as I shift books again and open the door to Rome Hall. We’re dying and when we die, we can be made new again. We love sunsets because there’s a sunrise. We love Fall because there’s a Spring. I find my desk, say hi to Hannah, and live because I’m dying.

“Lay your life down. Your heartbeats cannot be hoarded. Your reservoir of breaths is draining away. You have hands, blister them while you can. You have bones, make them strain-they can carry nothing in the grave. You have lungs, let them spill with laughter.” –N.D. Wilson

(Not a picture I took, one lent to me by the marvels of Google!)

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