Originally Posted Tuesday, September 23, 2014
It is the first sunrise of the new autumn. Shorter days, darker nights, a season of mysteries. Autumn has become one long holiday season which is O.K. with me. They should all blend together, really, Pilgrims as Trick or Treaters, turkeys and goblins and skeletons riding in Santa's sleigh. Oooo. . . maybe I've gone to far with that one. Santa is pretty sacred. I don't really want to go mucking about there, but the hog is greased and out of the pen now, so I guess I'll need to begin searching for such images on the internet. No, I don't want to. I'll hold onto my childhood visions and dreams of autumn for another year. It has always been the time of my deepest and most melancholy emotions. I'm an Emo for sure. My problem this year is that I'm going in as fat as that greased hog to which I referred, and just the word "autumn" makes me want waffles and fruit nut breads. I will take to wearing tent dresses and not giving a hoot about my waistline. Everything feels better unconstrained. I will wallow in the syrupy sweetness of life. Holy smokes, that is not what I intended at all. I didn't intend anything I can think of, but surely not that. The purple bruise of a morning is breaking in the sky. It has been raining gently here off and on for a few days now as if to feed the green lushness of summer that wishes not to go. Summer, that houseguest that overstays its welcome, that hangs around long enough to ruin the good impression it made upon arrival. Memories become mixed. The joy begins to unravel. O.K. Apparently I can't quit it. I'm in a lyrical mood, I guess, sad and wonderful. Fall. Just the idea of it.
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