Letters of Life

September Morn

A cup of joe and good conversation

It’s the last quarter of 2010.

Not too long ago, I had been playing Things with the then-new runners’ group over Chinese New Year, and posted Blake’s poem on the Tyger. This evening, the runner’s group did 8 km in a bid to prepare for the 10K run in December, which by the look of things, is going to be here any minute now.

Past Septembers used to find me mellow and thoughtful: It had to do with the rains, a growing awareness that the year was getting old, and heralding the approach of the Christmas season. But tonight, I am tired, and have deadlines to meet (no doubt personal, but still), and I suddenly wish for something magical.

Thing is, things have been pretty magical for me lately. . .

What if you slept
And what if
In your sleep
You dreamed
And what if
In your dream
You went to heaven
And there plucked a strange and beautiful flower
And what if
When you awoke
You had that flower in you hand
Ah, what then?  —- Samuel Taylor Coleridge, 1772-1834

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