Fall again.

Fall again, and it has kind of sneaked up on me. It always does out here the flat lands of Arizona, where only idiots plant deciduous trees and if a tree turns color it means the tree is dead. Of course the colors, while a big part of the autumn scene are important there is more going on with that bit of a nip in the air – here that means dropping below 90 for a few days. Okay, it's time to listen to Phos bitch about being a bit homesick again. This time of year is tough on me because the Fall was a big part of my life, a lot of time spent up in the Kettle Moraine. Here the boys up North get all stoked about a few poplars turning yellow, back in the KM, there is a virtual explosion of color.

This burst of vibrant hues is a sign that it's time to get in the last of the fishing before the lake ices over, and deer season is right around the corner. Just walking through the woods on a golden carpet of Larch (or Tamarack, if you prefer) needles makes life worthwhile – the thick layer deadens the foot fall adding to the hush of the forest so one can hear the r

ustle of small creatures skittering through the fallen maple, hickory and elm leaves. The Oak holds on to its dun coat until the very last, tough wood, resilient tree. A person can also hear the far off drumming of a woodpecker on a dead tree, and when I was younger the popping of an old John Deere starting up in the chill of an early morning. The whole thing overpowers the senses, but in a good way. This is something that must be experienced personally, no words can describe time in the woods because, like a poem or a work of art, it will mean something different to each individual beholding and immersing themselves in the scene. And like some sort of drug, once it gets hold of a person it never lets go.

And so because of distance friction I sit here reminiscing, a junkie trying to chase that first high, but failing. Alas, the cold has become too much, not so much for me but for my joints. The knees refuse to work properly, the shoulders ache and getting around is tough. Couple that with the fact if I ever see snow again it'll be too soon means that I am stranded here in the warmer climes, at least until climate change catches up with us here and the place becomes so much scorched earth. So I am left with many pleasant memories of time spent with my brother and father out in and among the trees. I don't mind so much, though I do long to go back for a visit.