Fall: Place 10

It’s the middle of the day at the game preserve. The trees look like they’re on fire. Orange is the dominant color. But there’s red, brown, green and every different shade in between. Autumn, it’s definitely my favorite season. And not just because it’s the beginning of football season.
I like to think that there’s nothing that can’t be accomplished in autumn. It’s all about change. Nature is killing itself and rebuilding again next year. How nice would that be? I also like that it’s the only season with two names, and one is desperate. Fall, we’ve decided to nickname it, like it’s clumsy. Can’t be trusted to stand on its own two feet. What if, instead of working together so beautifully, the seasons battled it out for their turn in the neighborhood? Or maybe they do. Maybe that’s what tornadoes are all about. The warm side of spring looks at the cold side and is like, “dude, it’s my turn, and if you don’t step off I’m going to wreck some shit up here.” And then we end up with trailer parks in shambles and bathtubs in trees.
Back to this notion of nature killing itself. Seriously, what if we could do that? I mean, it’s been almost a year since my last doctor’s appointment. What if I just said, to hell with it, I’m not going back. Instead, I’ll just wither away into the ground and grow my ass back up in a few months. Great time to do it too, with winter right around the corner. Speaking of winter, talk about something that’s clumsy and doesn’t really have any friends. Except skiers I guess. But you know what, if there never was a winter then those people wouldn’t know what they were missing. And if we had the option to kill ourselves right before winter, if you didn’t want to, if you love skiing so much, then stick around. Nobody’s forcing you.
There is an urgency among the animals today at the game preserve. They seem like they’re getting ready to go somewhere, which I suppose some of them are. The mallards are packing their bags, covering the furniture, purchasing travelers’ checks. They’ll be on their way soon to greener pastures, brighter lights, better days. Or maybe just the beach. I can see a duck kicked back in one of those long folding lawn chairs, umbrella overhead, white sunscreen on the end of its beak.
As for me, well I can’t stay here any longer either. I’ve got to go somewhere and paint something (now, if I only knew how to paint). I’ve decided that if Fall can have two names, why not have three. From now on I’m calling it Rise.