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Autumn & Entropy - The Horizon V
The Horizon
As the curtain closes upon fall, the colour and vigor of the earth fades into bittersweet memory. In the northern parts of the world, we measure and catalogue a great many things and attend to a great many matters as the colour pales. We take stock of our achievements and grieve our failures as the fields fall fallow and the harvest cut. We steel ourselves against the coming dark and look to the sky for the telltale signs of winter. Dark clouds in the north, great-winged formations heading south, and a frigid bite in the air, foretell the closing of fall. And as the last lonely leaf falls to the earth, a maelstrom stirs in the empty north and turns its terrible gaze upon us. Dread Boreas looms in frozen lands beyond the dark northern horizon. It will descend upon us and wreak frigid havoc across the land when autumn breathes its last breath. The will of icy Boreas is one of desolation and despair, and soon it will race down from the white wastes and bear with it grim tidings from those desolate shores. Northward, I set my sights beyond the forests aflame. Beyond peaceful country roads and pleasant days, I looked, and it was there. Waiting behind the storms and in the gales, seething and roiling. It took all of my muster to break its despairing thrall and remain grounded in the present. For winter would come to pass, regardless of the will of men like me.
Beauty, both fleeting and glorious, saturated every facet of the scene before me. Under the rich light of late October, each fading detail was born anew, like a phoenix rising from pallid ashes. The tenuous hand of autumn had caressed the land one last time and stripped away its withered veneer. And I was thankful. Fall is a fickle season, equal parts...
As the curtain closes upon fall, the colour and vigor of the earth fades into bittersweet memory. In the northern parts of the world, we measure and catalogue a great many things and attend to a great many matters as the colour pales. We take stock of our achievements and grieve our failures as the fields fall fallow and the harvest cut. We steel ourselves against the coming dark and look to the sky for the telltale signs of winter. Dark clouds in the north, great-winged formations heading south, and a frigid bite in the air, foretell the closing of fall. And as the last lonely leaf falls to the earth, a maelstrom stirs in the empty north and turns its terrible gaze upon us. Dread Boreas looms in frozen lands beyond the dark northern horizon. It will descend upon us and wreak frigid havoc across the land when autumn breathes its last breath. The will of icy Boreas is one of desolation and despair, and soon it will race down from the white wastes and bear with it grim tidings from those desolate shores. Northward, I set my sights beyond the forests aflame. Beyond peaceful country roads and pleasant days, I looked, and it was there. Waiting behind the storms and in the gales, seething and roiling. It took all of my muster to break its despairing thrall and remain grounded in the present. For winter would come to pass, regardless of the will of men like me.
Beauty, both fleeting and glorious, saturated every facet of the scene before me. Under the rich light of late October, each fading detail was born anew, like a phoenix rising from pallid ashes. The tenuous hand of autumn had caressed the land one last time and stripped away its withered veneer. And I was thankful. Fall is a fickle season, equal parts...
