With the autumnal equinox mercifully behind us, it’s time to rejoice that autumn has rushed in. Tears mixed with tide pools mark the joyful conclusion of beach season. Shutter your cabana wear and accept reality. Remember, when I’m speaking, please stare directly into my eyes. Don’t let the giant flesh-colored microphone wrapped around my left cheek distract you; it’s only there to assist my effortless projection.
(Somewhere in Pennsylvania, Autumn 2011, photo by the author)
Summer is valorized by the indolent and indiscriminate, under the assumption that all you need to triumph in the world is a suntan1 and a spritz. But summer is an illusion, friends. Can I call you friends? Don’t let the price of admission to this exclusive speaking engagement diminish our inevitable intimacy. Just because you pay me and not the other way around does little to hurt our future connection. I’ll be in Cleveland tomorrow, Toledo the day after and eventually Dayton for a complete Buckeye tour. That’s in case you want to see how those events differ from today. I can tell you now that it’s mostly with respect to appetizers.
To paraphrase George Costanza, he was balding, not bald. Similarly, fall is not dead, it’s only dying. That should give you hope and serenity. Blessed are the peepers, for they shall inherit bumper-to-bumper traffic along scenic byways. Foliage is mispronounced, misspelled and misunderstood, too often associated with the shiny trappings of tinfoil. A sartorial addition by the conspiratorially inclined. By now I’ve had my chlorophyll, weary of the endless greens of summer, pervading public parks and salad bowls alike.
Spring deceives. Summer deludes. Winter depresses. Fall is the only season that doesn’t make false promises under false pretenses. This is a good time to say I accept all types of payment. Be so kind as to drop yours in the collection plate and I’ll be sure to get it back to you before the winter solstice.
So if you don’t trust me based on the current litigation swirling about, then at least trust fall. Lean back in your seats and let go. You’ll find a cushy array of fallen leaves. And by the time you wake up, I’ll be halfway to Youngstown and a whole lot richer.
But not, I might add, a suntan pepper. A strange, underwhelming variety of multi-hued produce.