As some of you may know, I'm kind of a nature guy. Think along the lines of Walt Whitman or St. Francis of Assisi-- maybe with a dash of Bob Ross (happy trees). I love being outdoors and experiencing all the sensations of a pure world, away from cars and malls and fast food. Not that I mind any of that-- it's just nice to take a deep breath sometimes without smelling exhaust or a flame-broiled Whopper. I'd much rather smell a sycamore tree, which aside from simmering garlic and butter is about the best smell in the world.
Sadly, I don't get to spend nearly as much time outdoors as I would like. I do live in Dallas after all. So maybe I'm kind of a "backslidden" nature guy. I grew up on a farm so as a kid I was always outside in the woods or on the river or something like that and I don't get to do that so much anymore. So naturally, being the poet I am, I celebrate nature in a nostalgic way, in remembrance of my home. It's hard not to anthropomorphize it and think of it like a family member or a past romance or something. So God help me when Autumn rolls around. All of my fondest memories are from the fall. I met my wife in the fall, my son was born in the fall, my favorite outdoor activities were in the fall, the leaves turn colors in the fall, the sky gets bluer in the fall, cotton opens in the fall and smells wonderful, ducks and geese start migrating in the fall, the air gets that crisp feel or sometimes that damp, soggy, clingy cold that smells like mushrooms, Starbucks Anniversary Blend comes out in the fall, I could keep going--do you want me to keep going or do you get the idea? I really like autumn. I wish it was a blanket. A big cuddly blanket. And it's almost here. If you see me in the next few months you'll see the happiest me of the year.
Recent Comments