” The witches flyAcross the sky
The owls go, “Who? Who? Who?”
The black cats yowl
And green ghosts howl,
“Scary Halloween to you!”
~ Nina Willis Walter
Of soft and golden hue
Pierce through the future’s veil and show
What fate now holds for you.”
~ Unknown
you’ve been a-hauntin’ my dreams,
So I’ll propose on Halloween,
Love is crazy with a spooky
little girl like you.”
~ Classics IV
Art:
My favorite season has emerged again from its momentary quiescence.
Fall has always aroused a perplexing stillness in me, for some reason. The migraine-causing rigidity and draining tension have incredibly eased away from every nerve cell and functioning organ. It is a highly anticipated pause in time, enabling the perpetual working mind to indulge in a brief respite.
Though California does not usually offer the stunning panorama of exploding fall autumn colors, some trees do surprisingly succumb to the rare change. I love the crisp autumn air around me, while sipping the new fall coffee flavor from my favorite cafe.
Night settles in earlier, a subtle hint to revel in a precocious rest. Autumn always finds a way to embrace the atmosphere into serenity. As fleeting as it comes, fall is like the ever-protective mother who tucks away her fussy child for the evening. It is the unflinching force that lulls the chaos into a semblance of order. A decline in the disarray of daily life, to prepare for a new backlash when another season arrives.
Enjoy the company of family and friends. Treat yourself to a sexy pair of boots or a pretty sweater. Drink something hot. Read a riveting book. Walk along the neighborhood and look at the variety of fall decorations. Bask in the joys of autumn!
“A few days ago I walked along the edge of the lake and was treated to the crunch and rustle of leaves with each step I made. The acoustics of this season are different and all sounds, no matter how hushed, are as crisp as autumn air.”
~ Eric Sloane
Art:
“I don’t wanna say goodbye for the summer
Knowing the love we’ll miss
Oh let us make a pledge to meet in September
And seal it with a kiss
Guess it’s gonna be a cold lonely summer
But I’ll fill the emptiness
I’ll send you all my love every day in a letter
Sealed with a kiss.”
~ Bobby Vinton
***
“‘Tis the last rose of summer,
Left blooming alone;
All her lovely companions
Are faded and gone.”
~ Thomas Moore, The Last Rose of Summer, 1830
***
“Under the harvest moon,
When the soft silver
Drips shimmering
Over the garden nights,
Death, the gray mocker,
Comes and whispers to you
As a beautiful friend
Who remembers.”
~ Carl Sandburg, Under the Harvest Moon
***
“Have a good time, but remember,
There is dander in the summer moon above.
Will I see you in September
Or loose you to a summer love.”
~ S. Wayne and S. Edwards, 1959 song lyrics
Art: September
I used to know a friend who kept a diary. We met when I was a freshman in high school, and then became best friends later on. I remember her telling me that she would like to share the various entries of her life to her daughter someday. I thought at the time how nice it would be to impart a piece of the felicity and melancholy of my teenage years to my future children. To give them a glimpse of the human frailty, as well as the joys of the emergence of adulthood.
I love to write. I feel as if I can express myself eloquently through words on paper. If I ever try to verbalize the ideas going through my mind, they often come out as…..bland. The concept that I am hoping to evoke seems to sound without any conviction. With that, I strongly prefer writing (or typing) in order to convey my ever vigilant thoughts.
The ironic thing is, I have never owned a diary. I tried a few times to buy a journal, then put a few words here and there in the beginning. Afterwards, I lost the drive to record whatever had occurred on that particular day. Maybe I just did not possess the initiative to write down something as banal as my daily routine — how I detested waking up early, so I would not miss my drive to school, how I dreaded doing my oral report, or the organized schedule of my classes the whole day, which had gotten mundane after a while.
During my junior year, I had developed this artistic urge to write poems, rants, and editorials. I suppose the desire had arisen from my dad’s demise. There were emotions of anxieties, fears, and confusions raging in my mind. Multitude of questions that I felt I had no one I was comfortable with to ask. Subsequently, I turned to writing to alleviate the pent-up emotions inside me. I realized that the activity was profoundly cathartic. The piece of paper which held my clandestine feelings had become the reliable confidante. It is a repository of a turbulent mind and an escalating curiosity. In some ways, I was consoled.
Now, I have Abstruse Brunette. Although I admit that I have not been that open in this blog, I still have managed to write about the pensive thoughts that cross my mind, once in a while. There are still circumstances which I feel are too personal to be brought forth on the web, and be perused by random strangers. Maybe one day I will have another blog that will serve as the archive of more private experiences. But right now, Abstruse Brunette has offered me as much comfort as the previous notebook, which had started me writing. The venue may be different, but the level of solace is still the same.
We all have our own way of dealing with what troubles us, with what touches our deepest self. Life can be the road to lunacy if we do not have someone to share our problems with, to assuage our fears, and to laugh with. In whatever shape or form, I think it is imperative to have a trustworthy vessel to prevent us from becoming undone. I believe it is one of the best therapies one can give to oneself. At the end of the day, we all need a reprieve from the chaos surrounding us. A personal time to summon a moment of peace and lucidity.
And guess what? I just had mine. 
Art: Bedroom Scene
“The harvest moon hangs round and high
It dodges clouds high in the sky,
The stars wink down their love and mirth
The Autumn season is giving birth.
Oh, it must be October
The leaves of red bright gold and brown,
To Mother Earth come tumbling down,
The breezy nights the ghostly sights,
The eerie spooky far off sounds
Are signs that it’s October.
The pumpkins yellow,. big and round
Are carried by costumed clumsy clowns
It’s Halloween – let’s celebrate.”
- Pearl N. Sorrels, It Must be October
******
‘Tis now the very witching time of night,
When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out
Contagion to this world.
~William Shakespeare
******
Shadows of a thousand years rise again unseen,
Voices whisper in the trees, “Tonight is Halloween!”
~Dexter Kozen
******
On Halloween, witches come true;
Wild ghosts escape from dreams.
Each monster dances in the park….
~Nicholas Gordon
******
When black cats prowl and pumpkins gleam,
May luck be yours on Halloween.
~Author Unknown
Happy Halloween!
Art: Moonlight Rider
What is love?
The word alone is enough to evoke ineffable thoughts and emotions. It has been immortalized by poets and mythological gods. It possesses protean magnitude, enough to conquer someone’s soul. It is simple. It is complex. It can be tumultuous to rival the raging storm. It can be hypnotizing as the glowing embers of a dying fire.
I always think of love as a silent ghost that creeps on you — catching you unaware of its presence. By the time you realize you are magically captivated by its power, you have no choice but to surrender to the madness.
Percy Bysshe Shelley, one of the major contributors to English Romantic poetry, wrote a poem about love. He used nature to express the depth of a lover’s adoration for his beloved. It is a transcendent love that goes beyond the natural. Like nature, love works in mysterious ways. It captures your attention and holds you entranced. It is the breath of life that sustains a body to never lose hope and keep that loyal faith.
I can enumerate more analogies and comparisons to define love, but I believe Shelley’s Love’s Philosophy does an excellent job. Enjoy.
♥♥♥♥♥♥
The fountains mingle with the river
And the rivers with the ocean,
The winds of Heaven mix for ever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single,
All things by a law divine
In one spirit meet and mingle -
Why not I with thine?
See the mountains kiss high Heaven
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister-flower would be forgiven
If it disdained its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth,
And the moonbeams kiss the sea -
What are all these kissings worth
If thou kiss not me?
“The English winter, ending in July
To recommence in August.”
~ Lord Byron
*****
“When the blackberries hang
swollen in the woods, in the brambles
nobody owns, I spend
all day among the high
branches, reaching
my ripped arms, thinking
of nothing, cramming
the black honey of summer
into my mouth; all day my body
accepts what it is. In the dark
creeks that run by there is
this thick paw of my life darting among
the black bells, the leaves; there is
this happy tongue.”
~ Mary Oliver, August
*****
“Whilst August yet wears her golden crown,
Ripening fields lush- bright with promise;
Summer waxes long, then wanes, quietly passing
Her fading green glory on to riotous Autumn.”
~ Michelle L. Thieme, August’s Crown
*****
“In August, the large masses of berries, which, when in flower, had attracted many wild bees,
gradually assumed their bright velvety crimson hue, and by their weight again bent down
and broke their tender limbs.”
~ Henry David Thoreau
*****
Art:
The late Victorian society suffered no humdrum days because of the intriguing presence of Oscar Fingall O’Flahertie Wills Wilde.
Oscar Wilde was notorious for his sharp wit, sarcastic intelligence, humor, and lingustic skills. His flamboyant outlook in life was vividly expressed through his brilliant plays and writings.
Every one should allow herself a close glimpse of this fascinating man’s works.
He was such a droll.
• “I choose my friends for their good looks, my acquaintances for their good characters, and my enemies for their good intellects. A man cannot be too careful in the choice of his enemies.”
•”When the gods wish to punish us, they answer our prayers.”
•”To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance.”
•”I have the simplest of tastes. I am always satisfied with the best.”
•”I am so clever that sometimes I don’t understand a word of what I am saying.”
•”Women are meant to be loved, not understood.”
•”A cynic is a man who knows the price of everything but the value of nothing.”
•”The truth is rarely pure and never simple.”
Valentine’s Day is few days away, so here are two wonderful poems by Piero Scaruffi.
Enjoy! 
curls of ink blend
with sunset beams.
Your lips part
like petals
flash with dew.
And I breathe your breeze,
you mirage of horizons
that I was never meant to see.
♥♥♥♥
curled barefoot
in the luminous shell
of the night, I shall reach
the infinite sunflower
of your face
rising once again
to greet me
on the threshold
of eternity.
Art: I Can Fly
*Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.
*She’s beautiful, and therefore to be wooed; She is woman, and therefore to be won.
*The course of true love never did run smooth.
*I’ll follow you and make a heaven out of hell, and I’ll die by your hand which I love so well.
*Doubt thou the stars are fire;
Doubt that the sun doth move;
Doubt truth to be a liar;
But never doubt I love.
*You have witchcraft in your lips.
*When I saw you I fell in love, and you smiled because you knew.
*Love is the most beautiful of dreams and the worst of nightmares.
*Sweets to the sweet! Farewell.
