Yours and mine.
We may as well kiss our sorry butts goodbye, because for the next six months or so we’re marked men and women. ulp. If we had any brains at all we’d run like we’re on fire. Starting now.
Open your eyes and look around, the writing’s on the wall, big as life. Darkness falls earlier and earlier. A fine mist hangs in the air; water drips from the trees and eaves and gurgles in the downspouts. The sky is cheerless gray, the shade of despair. And, most revealing of all, long pants and sweatshirts were pulled out of storage this morning.
What does that tell you?
Bingo. Fall is here. I hate fall. Oh, the season itself isn’t so bad. I like bonfires and hayrack rides and bobbing for apples as much as the next guy. I like the brilliant colors of autumn leaves and crisp apple cider, hearty stews, all that stuff. But it’s too little, too late. Fall is a precursor, my friend, a slippery slope to the nightmarish ordeal lying dead ahead.
It’s only September, for chrissakes, but feels like November. If the weather continues this course, trick or treaters will need a dogsled and an ice axe to make their rounds. Costumes will be buried under parkas and mufflers and wool caps — shoot, save time, dress them as Eskimos.
By Thanksgiving, I’ll envy the turkey happily roasting in the oven. The coming winter is widely predicted to be worse than last year. Remember last year? I do. I still have flashbacks of the polar vortexes. Lately, small talk and idle chatter has revolved around the coming season. Without fail someone gleefully relates how horrible, grim, bleak, and endless this wint — sorry. I can’t go on.
The thought of what lies ahead depresses me to the point of tears. You don’t want to see that. Really, you don’t. I’m an ugly crier; hideous, actually. My face crumples, my nose runs, my hair gets involved — sproing. I’m not one of those beautiful, tragic women who cries quietly and elegantly. I’m Lucy Ricardo’s twin, I wail like a siren. Then can’t stop.
You know, tell you what; call me when spring gets here. But not a moment before.
Copyright © 2014 Publikworks
the whirly girl 
12 responses to “: this one’s got our name on it :”
I’m going to admit that Fall is my favorite season. Two obvious reasons: it cools down a lot, and Football Season. It’s truly a beautiful time of year, if you don’t think ahead, because you can take winter and shove…… That’s why I moved to the Southwest. Winter, but mild and over quickly. Not like northern Wyoming where I grew up and I heard recently that Buffalo, NY is expecting something like 154 inches of snow this winter. Why would you live there?
LikeLike
That’s the trick, Len: don’t think ahead. But I do, obsessively.
If I had any brains I’d have stayed in the southeast instead of coming back here. I know, I’m an idiot. Oy.
LikeLike
And this is why I hibernate.
LikeLike
You, too?
LikeLike
THANKS GODS (as my german godmother says) I am so grateful to have someone else who hates fall/autumn. I get chills thinking about this winter. I bought woolen duvets on sale this summer for the winter.. our bedroom is unheated!.. I am panicking at the holes in the Wood Shed. My fingers BENT in the cold last winter. OK.. calm down cecilia, it might be alright. .just breathe. c
LikeLike
Honestly? I’m afraid of being cold. I think it’s the worst sensation there is. Worse than pain, worse than hunger or humiliation. I dread this. Let’s stick together and get through this.
LikeLike
Spring didn’t show up until June this time round so you may be waiting for awhile.
There are certain perks to living in Canada.
1-We are already use to wearing parkas over our Halloween costumes.
2- Our Thanksgiving actually comes before Halloween…so there is that.
LikeLike
How do you cope with winter up there? I simply can’t deal with it anymore. By January I’m climbing the walls. I should live on the equator
LikeLike
Anyone who claims fall as their favorite season is delusional.
LikeLike
We’re delusional, Jo. They’re nuts.
LikeLike
that would be me then :p
LikeLike
You’re not nuts. You’re a photographer — that’s allowed :o)
LikeLike