Post by contention on Jul 23, 2006 22:13:46 GMT -5
This poll is together a bit of an oddity, merely based on the matter that when they get to large they start to look a bit "lanky". However, this question is situated on a little piece of something that we all feel from time to time. That natural essence in which we ponder over what our favorite time of year might come to be; this could of fact be placed in seasonal means. However, it was balanced on months; merely because seasons give a short quantitiy, while months can let you choose the beginning or end of your favorite Earthly rotation. Everyone for some strange reason has a diffrent adoration toward a time of our lives; be it the approaching of our birthdays or the sly efforts of Christmas on the prowl. Either way, there is that section of motion which captures our heart; where the spirit seems to fly out, and we become one with our surroundings. Usually, it may be dependent upon some rising in your habits; it could reflect anything, from the weather that comes from it, or the coming of some simple holiday. While the circling of our reality may take three-hundred and sixty-five days; we miraciously find enjoyment in the layout of our schemes. Yet, it can't be forgotten that there stalling moments; such as the start of school and those blaring pieces which give nothing but cold, obnoxious days to tingle at our toes. Hopefully though, there is something that has always caught your intrest in our scheme of things: be it the birth of Spring or the death of Fall.
Some of the most popular and over populated months can find themselves to be from October to December; merely because this begins the state of Holiday Spirit. Once Halloween comes to it's closure, the smell of the roasted turkey enters the pot. After all is consumed, the mind begins to revolve around the "Christmas List"; causing all of the world to begin an individual flurry. Stores become packed, parking lots turn into mazes, and every step is nearly fatal. There is something within this mention that causes us, as a whole to feel united. The fall to winter rush is hard to explain, it's a moment where the troubles of the world seem to melt; twisting into that of a soft dew, only to reignite as the Spring Fling slings in. Odd in patterns, that while the world around us suffocates under a film of ice, we seem to relax within the comfort of our homes. Forgetting about the troubles of the past year, our bodies heated by some type of irreplacable fire. Each muscle, every tense action to calm, falling under the Christmas tree. While many have come to say that these days are led with greed, its hard to deny that even while we might enjoy the presents, there is something deeper none the less. We get to escape our duties, if only for a few weeks, to spend time among those that bred us: made us be. Then it collapses as the New Year arrives, throwing us back into the flashing scene. Where the layout moves in a blur, tossing us forward and the excitment back in another three-hundred or so days. Yet it's this wait and antcipation which gets us ready, gives us the juice to always continue onwards.
Fall itself is an interesting blade of time; for there is something about the flair it gives that none others can come to compare upon. That gentile ray of the sunlight; to give the orange birth over a tipped hill. Where each of its eyes seem to twinkle, gesturing to subside into the lifes of those that thrive; a stranger to their backs. Its every movement unnoticed as they mingle, connected and held by one motion; ready for the coming of a silent era. When outside it is neither cold nor warm, merely dainted in the need of a light sweater. Something to bottle the heat, like that of a quilt; when every breathe releases, to intwine with the burdens around. Then that smell erupts, something quite unclear yet noticed; those leaves, the death they sprout arouses as no other. They turn their quills, falling inwards; outwards to bare. Gliding down unto their toes, where they seem to kiss their lips to the ground; whispering some untold tale, some wish in the future. There they remain, untouched, unblistered; to crowd and to flourish. Where to pass, not all can say, only to writhe in some pattered craze. Seasons, Months, Years; all of them give us something. Yet, in this bane of time, what do you see to be your favorite, the month that makes you feel best, has the prepared events ready for your whims.
Some of the most popular and over populated months can find themselves to be from October to December; merely because this begins the state of Holiday Spirit. Once Halloween comes to it's closure, the smell of the roasted turkey enters the pot. After all is consumed, the mind begins to revolve around the "Christmas List"; causing all of the world to begin an individual flurry. Stores become packed, parking lots turn into mazes, and every step is nearly fatal. There is something within this mention that causes us, as a whole to feel united. The fall to winter rush is hard to explain, it's a moment where the troubles of the world seem to melt; twisting into that of a soft dew, only to reignite as the Spring Fling slings in. Odd in patterns, that while the world around us suffocates under a film of ice, we seem to relax within the comfort of our homes. Forgetting about the troubles of the past year, our bodies heated by some type of irreplacable fire. Each muscle, every tense action to calm, falling under the Christmas tree. While many have come to say that these days are led with greed, its hard to deny that even while we might enjoy the presents, there is something deeper none the less. We get to escape our duties, if only for a few weeks, to spend time among those that bred us: made us be. Then it collapses as the New Year arrives, throwing us back into the flashing scene. Where the layout moves in a blur, tossing us forward and the excitment back in another three-hundred or so days. Yet it's this wait and antcipation which gets us ready, gives us the juice to always continue onwards.
Fall itself is an interesting blade of time; for there is something about the flair it gives that none others can come to compare upon. That gentile ray of the sunlight; to give the orange birth over a tipped hill. Where each of its eyes seem to twinkle, gesturing to subside into the lifes of those that thrive; a stranger to their backs. Its every movement unnoticed as they mingle, connected and held by one motion; ready for the coming of a silent era. When outside it is neither cold nor warm, merely dainted in the need of a light sweater. Something to bottle the heat, like that of a quilt; when every breathe releases, to intwine with the burdens around. Then that smell erupts, something quite unclear yet noticed; those leaves, the death they sprout arouses as no other. They turn their quills, falling inwards; outwards to bare. Gliding down unto their toes, where they seem to kiss their lips to the ground; whispering some untold tale, some wish in the future. There they remain, untouched, unblistered; to crowd and to flourish. Where to pass, not all can say, only to writhe in some pattered craze. Seasons, Months, Years; all of them give us something. Yet, in this bane of time, what do you see to be your favorite, the month that makes you feel best, has the prepared events ready for your whims.
