fall from grace

i enjoy the solitude and desolateness that comes along with running in a such ungodly hour as i do. it's a whole different world out there at that time, to an extent that if i occasionally run in the afternoon in the same surroundings it feels altogether a different place.

there is unquestionable beauty in the silence and calmness of early mornings. i am grateful for being able to experience it; many people never do, at least willingly. you experience the shift in seasons so vividly by venturing out in the mornings - what only some months ago was bright and warm is now dark and gloomy and cold; and the path i ran in august is now impossible to take because of the lack of light. 

you sense the changes in the air surrounding you- temperature, humidity, strength of wind - how it feels on your skin and in your lungs. you see how the trees that not long ago were lush and green are now starting to lose their dry, yellow leaves - like rotting flesh coming off from the bones of a dead animal.

i detest winter, but the switch to it from summer always has the same, undefined sad beauty in it.

W.H Auden - Funeral Blues

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves, 

Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.