LOSS IS THE COLOR PURPLE by Melanie Blatt
loss is the color purple a bruise on the heart that fades with time the pain a memory loss does not mean losing yourself every piece of you is still there maybe even more so something that once grew is now frozen moved into the museum to be remembered maybe studied but never changed and arguments only echo it is the receding tide on a toasted summer day the day was filled but the sun must now set in its wake a deep purple dusk pulls the curtains closed it happened and it is over the night is here notice the moon and the stars the gravity that we thank for existence and like loss hope is also the color purple the sun will rise
LONDON’S SEASONAL SYMPHONY by Kiley Parrish
I
t’s easy to explain why London is so perfect in the sun. The buzz of people giggling through the streets, every inch of green space covered in picnic blankets and empty bottles of wine, and 16 hours of daylight, leaving Londoners a bit sun-kissed the next day. But the sun is not what makes London, London. When summertime fades and one layer turns to three, London shows her truest form and becomes perfect, at least to me. As my favorite pair of jean shorts begin to collect dust in the back of my wardrobe, the ground turns crisp, with layers of leaves covering the pavement. What used to be green now bright orange and musty yellow, twirling around in the wind. When the autumnal season approaches London becomes both brittle and welcoming. Most days, the city is gray and gloomy, sometimes as wet as a walked dog. Even on rainy days, the sun appears every once in a while to let us know she’ll be back soon. There’s something so enchanting about the pitter-patter sound of rain hitting my umbrella as the clouds fall upon me and the crunchy leaves beneath my shoes. The trees continue to shed, becoming bare with shriveled leaves that hang on by a thread. The crispy and colorful ground reverses to its most authentic self, cement. But as autumn ends, the most wonderful time of the year begins. Holi-
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THE POST GRAD GAZETTE, FEBRUARY 13, 2024
day lights cover every tudor-styled corner, Christmas markets become everyone’s Friday night plans, and the walk down Oxford Street to admire the lights above never gets old. Even though the sun sets before the business day ends, I forget to miss it as Christmas festivities take over the city. Rolling suitcases become a normal noise outside my flat window as people come and go during the holiday season. The sight of red and green decorations are slowly disappearing, and things are going back to normal as Londoners ring in the new year. During this season, three layers become four, with extra warmth from a hefty scarf and a beanie to bear the wind. Sometimes, the frigid temperatures above ground make me look forward to the stuffy heat that emerges from the Central Line. But even now as I freeze, cheeks rosy red, braving my city walks with a Pret coffee for warmth, the sun gradually peeks through the clouds. It’s now just a matter of time before the nights get longer, the sun gets hotter, and the city begins to miss the seasons that make London, London.
