Dear Diary, I had my first Philosophy class today
Jolted out of bed twenty minutes too late, and plunged face first into a miserable indecisive drizzly morning. The world on the way to the first Philosophy 101 was framed by a dripping black fur hood, and the edges of my outline hovered uncertainly in the funereal, oppressive Grey. The cold munched into my bones, and the moisture wreaked manic havoc on my hair.
Emerged from the lecture - a mere hour later - into another world of azure sky and a radiant, amiable sun. Two trees outside the humanities building seduced my mesmerized eyes with their delicate pink-and-orange-gold crowns. Autumn is a season of celebrated mortality, and of beautiful ruination. Such a paradoxical time of year. From where I stood, in stupefied reverie, those trees, in the winter-grip of death, seemed ironically to be bursting, alive, into summer flame and spring flower.
I left the lecture before the professor did. When I reached his room, he was already there. There must be some kind of complex underground tube travel I am not aware of, or a button one can press to disappear and simultaneously reappear in a different place, without any interim states of being. (There is some atom/particle/quark/thing that is able to do this, but it has been two long years, and I have been unashamedly unfaithful to GCSE Physics).
Anyway, that, or I spend too much time gawking at dying trees.
What's that? Oh yes, and the lecture was good, too.