Leaf SuicidePosted: November 11, 2011
The leaves, lately so colorful, have grown quite withered and dull. Realizing their beauty is irretrievably lost, they jump to their death. If they don’t jump exactly, they at least cease to hang on to life. Autumn is dark in that way.
What are humans to do when they find themselves in the same situation as these leaves? What is to become of a person who, in the autumn of his life finds that he no longer has the strength of a young man and sees his “sable curls all silver’d o’er with white”?
One can, and ought to, take good care of himself physically and mentally. The right attitude and precautions against premature aging can act as a greenhouse for the exotic plant that is man. One cannot stop aging, “and nothing ‘gainst Time’s scythe can make defence,” but the summer of one’s life can be somewhat extended.
Beer of the Week: The Premium Malt’s by Suntory – Moderate amounts of alcohol have been shown time and again to promote heart health, so beer clearly has a place in our prescribed well-being regimen. Luckily, modern bottling, refrigeration and storage techniques make fresh beer available year-round. Even beers from overseas. Why they decided that there should be an apostrophe in “The Premium Malt’s” is not clear, but questionable grammar aside, this is a rather good beer. It pours light gold and very clear. The aroma is pleasantly malty with some herbal hops. It is smooth and sweet and finishes with a nice bit of grassy hops and bit of fruity sweetness. Grapes, perhaps. This is almost certainly the best Japanese beer reviewed to date.
Reading of the week: Sonnet #12 by William Shakespeare – Everything is withering and dying, and soon you will too. That seems to be the general sentiment of this sonnet. It is not the cheeriest of sonnets.
Question of the week: The last line of the sonnet proposes the one potential defense against death: procreation. Can the survival of one’s genes (in the form of progeny) really offer comfort against the death of the self? Or is it simply the closest thing one has to immortality, so one grasps at it as at straws?