Autumn is bittersweet for me. As some of you might have gathered by now, it’s
my favorite time of the year. We’re just
past peak season at the top of November, but not by much. As I pen these words on a scratch piece of
paper, I’m driving a long stretch of the Interstate from Point A to Point B, and
the trees of the Upper Midwest through my window panorama look
spectacular. Yes, I love the fall: the
leaves, the sky, the weather, Halloween, Thanksgiving, apple cider, pumpkins,
childhood memories, and all the rest of it.
Yet it couldn’t come at a busier time.
Nothing’s changed; it’s always been this way: deadlines and pressures
galore, especially in October. I always
have the hope that the next autumn won’t
be so complicated and vexing. Most of
this complication is of my own making, I must concede, so I’ll try to maintain a
broad perspective about life. “Black
care rarely sits behind a rider whose pace is fast enough.” I must drive on.
