That nip in the air signifying a change in ambient outdoor temps. Rain. Wind. Falling leaves the colors of which no one can name. The olfactory response to a dry cedar fire. Coffee. The bittersweet search for your favorite hoodie laying dormant in deep hibernation for a year. Wool socks. Antifreeze in the truck. A supply of candles, drinking water and batteries. The segue from hops to grapes.
And college football.
I was thinking last night about it. My tendencies to obsess with things that strike me as important. Or interesting. Or challenging. Or simply fun. Missing from that list is money. I am a failure at money. I accept this with the lame excuse that it has never been as important to me as, say, love, music, art, food, good health, fitness and a robust curiosity for metaphysics. With the exception of food, all those things are free. But real world economies make it incredibly difficult to get by on love alone, as The Beatles once suggested. Good, local and organic apples are $3.50 a pound. They even sell us water these days. I sometimes laugh about having to buy air, clean oxygen, one of these days. Shelter is off the charts. Thanks Obama (smiley face).
So we need dough. As the saying goes - I will take my chances at happiness as long as my shiny red sport car is runnin. Or - money can't buy love but it sure can eliminate boredom.
I am rarely bored. There is simply too much going on. A walk in the park is sometimes the most stimulating part of my day. Up on Mt St Helens last week the majesty of nature was so overwhelming that I sat at camp and almost wept.
I am part of this. This mysterious and magical movement of time and space. I watched the tape of the mountain goat on the sheer cliff face find his way out. The metaphor of which was not lost upon me. I watched the clouds of steam swirl in the valley that was once labeled as a dead zone. I listened to the geese and felt the sun on my shoulders, watched in awe as bats dined on a thousand skeeters.
Fall Saturdays.
Oh yeah, 31-13 DAWGS
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