Rod Stewart is fall. From Maggie May, the song of my football glory years ridin’ the pine at good ol’ Lafayette High, to the randomly played I-pod song during this almost-brisk* morning run, Every Picture Tells a Story.
*It was 58, not warm like it has been, but still not breath mist cold like late October mornings should be. I love cool, even cold, weather so unseasonably warm weather is uncomfortable. But with no hurricanes or tsunamis we have absolutely NOTHING to complain about. In any case there are MANY people who love the warm weather, and remembering that the best philosophy is to want (have love) for others as we want (have love) ourselves serves to “cool” me down.
[QUERY: Does love=want? This seems inconsistent, as “want” indicates a lacking, a pain. Of course “want” as used in the manner of wishing good is different, isn’t it? Well, no, not really because it still indicates that all is currently not fine, there is still something more needed to be “happy.” In fact for many of us LESS is MORE. Without realizing it our “wants” when fulfilled leads only to more unhappiness, which certainly is not love. Anyway, since warm weather makes others happy, there is solace for me. Whew! Sorry.]
So the sun was just rising on this gray morn, the mellow street lamps alit between trees now colored with those fabulous autumnal tones. Last night’s rain brings out such richness in the rusts, wines and golds of leaves now drained of August’s chlorophyll.
My feet slap fallen leaves, in death more beautiful than ever. Hum, the green leaf of summer stores fuel for its mother tree in summer, then in sacrificing that cholorphyillic feast serves humanity with its clarion call of color, the bellwether sign that Thanksgiving and Christmas are just around the corner.
A call that will hopefully again remind us of our better nature, our higher selves.
May we all be like the storybook leaves of fall.
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