Dying Light

It’s always a bittersweet time of year for me. I adore the autumn, and the crisp cool air that’s supposed to come with it. The change in seasons is especially obvious to me when I do my morning’s training routine. I watch the light fade away little-by-little each morning until I’m training in complete darkness, and this generally only changes in the Spring when the light returns and the world is reborn.

The upside to this is that I get to train underneath, and subsequently watch, the stars. Those tiny pinpricks of light flaring billions of kilometres away, that have fascinated humanity for countless aeons. I fall into the same trap. There’s often times where I pause what I’m doing mid-rep in order to stare at them for a bit. There’s something about having my muscles and sinews aflame, staving off the cold, that makes me want to stare quite literally into space.

I like how these same stars have borne witness to the greatest events and saddest catastrophes of my species. I like how they are indifferent, and by their nature shine upon me the same as they did all of history’s greatest heroes and villains. I like how they’ve witnessed the rebirth of humanity over and over again, how new generations enter as the old leave, how political systems change and revitalise or condemn their adherents. I like how there’s a moment, at the end of every set, where I push myself forward just a little bit further and I feel something inside of me shift, and grow stronger.

I like how every day, similiar to my species before me and after me, I am reborn underneath those stars. Happy Equinox.