Because I’m writing a paper about Sei Shonagon and Kokinshu poets:
Autumn as set forth,
offering many-hued leaves
like fragments of cloth.
If I knew what path to take,
I would go and seek it out.
In other news, while I should have been focused on writing this paper, I paused momentarily when my eyes wandered away from my computer screen to my copy of Joan Didion’s A Year of Magical Thinking off the bookshelf that sits next to my desk. I read the first two lines: “Life changes fast. Life changes in the instant.”
I stopped there.
I think I’m going to stop here.