When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
The mystique Yeats retains even when he is being sentimental. I can feel the changes as this plasma of "growth" crawls through vascular shunts and through pillowy capillary beds during this warm Autumn Augustan day. What are the signifiers of Fall? Long-sleeved shirts without jackets, slightly bitten-worn and chapped lips, warm wind mixed with the exhaust of sighing buses and slanted afternoon light, and well, I don't know what else. I feel like I have a story to tell. Perhaps I will offer one later.
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New York's signifiers of Autumn. Leaves brown and crunchy beneath expensive sneakers, crumbled between two cold fingers in the pocket of a black coat, whisked down sewer drains by mysterious winds, merging with pavement in warm rain. The trees are at once relieved to shed these dead, heavy leaves, and frightened, for now they are naked, barren arms pointing helplessly towards the sky.
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