Against the Wind

September chill always brings an uncanny nostalgia I cannot pin my finger on. Days are becoming shorter, and I suddenly need a blanket to keep me warm during the night. Seasons change, and so do we. Omnipresent transformation of life consumes me.

Seasons remind us nothing is persistent. Seasons move us and move with us. Seasons show how abundant and powerful our lives are.

We need comparison, reference point, movement. We need them to put our memories into perspective, and it is perspective that gives our memories real meaning and significance.

Do memories define us? How connected, and to what degree are we related to our memories? Do we ever change, or do we remain who we were in the beginning, just oddly ageing and nothing more? Are we becoming wise, and is there wisdom in life, after all?

Why are we here? Are we to ever find out, or would this discovery ruin us?