autumn in the wind
i took a drive today...there is nothing better than a nice drive in the autumn...this is truly the best time of the year...between late august and early october...i don't know what it is but it smells different...maybe it is the immanent scent of death and decay on the wind...or the soft cool breezes...the fact that soon you will again be able to put on your sweaters...it is magnificent...some people prefer spring weather, probably because they have been cooped up all winter, or maybe because there is something soothing to look forward to...because after spring comes summer, people like the heat, people like the folks roaming around in what amounts to underwear...do not get me wrong i like spring too...but damn if autumn isn't better...its that indescribable something that makes you so happy that you were born alive in this place...and not simply left to your devices in another world...most people would half listen to this description and shrug it off..."yeah," they would say, "the leaves are nice"...i know the leaves are nice but that is not the essence of autumn!...it has to be the subtleness of the transition of death on the wind...nothing else could feel, smell, and taste like that...so i drove, windows open, taking in that sweet smell and the wonderful atmosphere...i glided smoothly passed 'pond view estates', 'hickory run', 'deer meadow', and of course 'country acres'...i suppose the irony is lost on the families that live here..."they cut down the hills and you pay higher bills"...that was all i could think of as i drifted softly home with the breeze in my trees...
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"damn if autumn isn't better"... I say I like the season and miss the east, but it never translates into the simple reality that was painted here, it gets silently perverted, absudly perverted, but this is serious, "it's because you're more closely connected to the brutality of colonization, the source, and that's what you miss, the illusion of autumn, you haven't figured that out yet." But that's not what I miss, and the impending summer will absolve none of us, not me, not you.
"I climbed the ridge of gaspereau mountian, lookin to the valley below, and watchin' the apples grow." They grow independent of the harvesters and they always will.
So I've missed "autumn in the wind," so I'm sorry, though I am glad it's there for me, now.
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