Fall has always been difficult for me.
I’m sitting on the back porch drinking whiskey and smoking a pipe. I’m pretty sure those make me more intelligent, pipes and whiskey. Perhaps for a moment. For the last 3 days I’ve been in New York City. A very kind friend showed me around. We rode bikes and ate good food and did things ordinary tourists would not have. It was grand.
I arrived back to Nashville to find the weather considerably cooler. Finally. Fall is here. There is something terribly romantic about the fall. The colors, the smell of wood starting to burn, that certain crisp in the air; it’s as if all of nature is exercising one very long, well-deserved exhale. And my soul follows suit.
But it’s a change. It’s a change from the fast paced summer months. And I’ve never been good with change. As soon as I find a comfortable rhythm, it’s time for something new all over again.
That’s just how it is, though. Rhythm and change. Change and rhythm. One more sip of whiskey. One more puff on the pipe.
And the leaves begin to turn.