Eye Spy with My Little Eye, Red Leaves Falling From the Sky

               While running this afternoon I got this feeling- maybe you’ve felt it too. The air is biting. The trees are undressing for winter, and an old crisp friend greets you at the sunrise. Autumn is my favorite season, and I always welcome him with open arms and many layers. 

    

There is something familiar about this change, but its difficult to pinpoint just what. Staring across at the park, and the cottonwood full of rusty crinkling leaves I remember the boy  I once kissed there under the shower of fall. I’ve been here before. 
          I feel the urgency to get to mountain once more, before it cozies up beneath its winter blanket. I’ve been here before. 
       I smell the allspice from my mom-mom baking pies in anticipation of Thanksgiving. Mmm, yes I have been here before. 

    I’ve seen the ebb and flow of the seasons, and I am reminded that nothing can stay forever. At this I resign myself to knit caps, hot tea, and backgammon tournaments with my father. I get swept up in reverie about what the coming seasons offer, and reminisce over my fortunes from the most recent. 

    My work is seasonal. The life of a gypsy allots opportunities to experience remote and exotic locations, meet diverse and energetic friends, and constant transition to new stations. I’ve already moved on from my magic summer in Montana, but I held tight to the idea ‘my Montana’ had not yet transitioned. Until recently, my companions could still be found preparing gear and playing guitar Monday nights in the St. Regis bunk house. But just like the leaves from the cottonwood across the street, slowly we are letting go, letting the wind carry us on to new adventures. A year from now we will all be gone, but I hope we will be in better places. Places where maples leaves decorate tailgates, and sled dogs howl at the full moon. Maybe this time we’ll say, “I’ve never been here before”.