8/16/2004

gatsby's pool come fall

F. Scott Fitzgerald was a distracted writer. Zelda did a number on him, but it was her passion and insanity that helped to create the characters in most of his novels.
the fall of the year is fast approaching. i can always tell; the cicadas, the scent in the air, morning sky light, chilly evenings and the faint smell of woodsmoke outside.
the final scene of great gatsy comes to mind--the one when gatsby lay on the float before the shot was fired. summer ending feels like that to me.

while walking a trail this weekend with mac, carolyn and dave, the signs were everywhere. new lovers walking and talking, using private sayings and songs. I guess i overromaticize the season--thinking that romantic love does exist besides in movies and that a richard gere type will come in to work and carry me away from this. the fall.
Instead of starting any new relationships during the fall, it seems like most of them ended once the summer sun set.
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5 comments:

grey matters said...

but people don't want to hear about it. most people love the fall of the year. guess they never heard a few songs I know, "When October Goes" "Falling Leaves" "Autumn"
although the breeze is still, I feel the chill of autumn. oh yes, it's autumn. it's always autumn. however green the hill to me it still is autumn. i can feel the frost now that makes my spring and summer dreams seem lost now why can't the autumn haze
recall the days
of wwarm summer laughter
that faded soon after
in autumn
he left in autumn
and though another season's here, i feel the emptiness of autumn
all the year...
autumn
autumn.

11:00 AM
grey matters said...

or this little goodie:
the falling leaves
drift by the window
the autumn leaves of red and gold
i see your lips the summer kisses the sun-burned hands i used to hold
since you went away
the days grow long
and soon i hear old winter's song
but i miss you most of all
my darling
when autumn leaves start to fall.
start to fall
autumn leaves.

11:02 AM
grey matters said...

and finally, a barry manilow tune...
and when october goes
the snow begins to fly
above the smokey roofs
i see the planes go by
the children running home beneath a twilight sky
oh, for hte fun of them
when i was one of them
and when october goes
the same old dream apears
and you are in my arms
to share the happy years
i turn my head away to hide
the helpless tears
oh how i hate to see october go.

i should be over it now, i know
it doesn't matter much
how old i grow
i hate to see october go.

11:05 AM
grey matters said...

ok, one more:
oh, it's a long long while
from may to december
but the days grow short
when you reach september
when the autumn weather
turns the leaves to flame
one hasn't got time
for the waiting game
oh the days dwindle down
to a precious few
september
november
and these few precious days
i'll spend with you
these precious days
i'll spend with you.

11:07 AM
grey matters said...

ohhh. i like that image--red blood on white..and whole-heartedly agree.
it is a difficult time of year for me, as is the spring. the hardest, in fact. at least in the winter there is a latent period; a dormancy and a comfort in gathering yourself inward like hibernation. summer is also that way--when everything is in full swing and rather predictible. same forgettable skies often without clouds, the heat rising, a slow and restful sort of time.
autumn is moody and romantic, spontaneious (sp) as is the spring. maybe it is overstimilating for me and i just get blue. change. death and rebirth...
i search for a connectiing soul every spring, every autumn like a turtle dove in search of her mate for life and is unable to find him.

9:08 AM

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