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Autumn blues
The part about autumn that stinks is winter. Without winter, autumn would be terrific.
Winter lies in the waiting, looking for the first opening to pile-drive through with cold weather, snow, slush, slop and everything else that escorts winter.
Autumn is like a Sunday afternoon: it’s still the weekend, but Monday morning is perched like a mean cat ready to pounce.
Now, I realize the autumn in this area exudes beauty unparalleled on this planet and is certainly a source of big business. Folks come from miles around to see what we enjoy every day of the week. They should come to see this. Talk to a city person; you’ll discover that, to them, the country is a walk in the park, whiling away an afternoon avoiding pigeons and muggers.
Coming here in the fall makes them debate a career change.
What we have, they can only get from television or books and magazines. They
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