The leaves have taken a beautiful shift in color from vibrant glossy greens to crisp cool yellows and reds. School's cool, although I'd rather be doing a lot more creative writing than my schedule allows. I'm probably most in love with Boston the city than anything else. There's an old graveyard I pass every morning on my walk to class. It's scattered with gray and black headstones. I look at it, and I smile. Something about it speaks to me. It might be the way the sun flitters through the leaves and strikes the dark ground with spots of light. Maybe it's the idea of oldness and newness taking home in the same place. It could very well signify an attraction to the mysterious. Whatever it is, it's a special part of where I am now. A symbol. I have to admit, sometimes I'd rather sit in that cemetary and forget all about British Literature and History of Photography. A writer seeks experience and then an intimate reflection. So many faces, so many pages, lots of thoughts, and obligations...Sometimes a girl's just got to come home for awhile.
*My wet pants after plopping down quickly on one of Boston's public chairs that was covered in water.
Note to self: Even in the most enjoyable moments, check your seat before you sit. Thankfully, it wasn't urine :)
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