Mulling things on my morning ramble with Storm, the family’s mixed Lab.
The leaf–it’s down, brown and disconnected–pretty much sums up my feeling about fall.
My hate of fall becomes even more pronounced when I read glowing praise, such as this one, from my friend Jeff Lampe, owner, publisher, editor and jack-of-all-trades at Heartland Outdoors.
This ear of corn is the reality of fall, again, notice down and brown, and shortly to be forcibly disconnected.
Notice a theme in fall?
Years ago I self-diagnosed myself, with much agreement from close friends, of Seasonal Affective Disorder. A friend in the mental health business agreed enough to give me one of those lights to help fight it.
It has helped.
So has been forcing myself to recognize that I have to do some things myself to help fight it: Go outside for extended periods and exercise, even in winter and fall (two of the reasons for the ramble), drink less coffee (two or three cups in the morning instead of four); reduce alcohol at night, eat regular, sleep regular, and learn to embrace the love of family and friends.
That last one can be hard when you’re sinking into the slow-moving mud of SAD, where disconnectiveness becomes the fallback position.
So this morning, as we came over the side rail that separates the wildness of the town pond from the town, I noticed the leaves of one of the trees along the north old clay pit were already yellowing.
Even the beautiful purple blooms of the thistle I found a few days ago are beginning to brown and die back.
And I felt the usual weight of fall begin to settle in. So I forced myself to focus on the colors, other than the dying browns and yellows.
A great blue heron flew over the cornfield on the northwest edge of the extended ramble. I wasn’t quick enough for a photo, and I am not sure how it would have turned out any way.
Only a few mourning doves flying or cooing this morning.
A belted kingfisher squawked on the southwest corner of the north old pit, but I could not see it.
A few fish jumped on both pits. In the cold air (50s), a beautiful fog lifted off the town pond. I am not a good enough photographer to photograph it well.
I am still working on learning the tricks and nuances of my new Canon PowerShot, so the evening primrose, growing wild on the extended ramble, is not done justice.
A flock of Canada geese honked and flew past to the east. They were low enough I could not see them, so they must have a spot where they are feeding.
The sun rose with a pinhole of vivid light as we neared the bridge over the neckdown over the two pits. I like that image. It brightened my morning. I think it was being in the right moment more than the actual pinhole of sunrise.
That was about it for color to brighten the impending fall drabs.
Coming out of the town pond, the wild part of the ramble, I counted only a few doves eating grit in the gravel by grain elevator on the edge of town.
I may be headed down into fall, but at least the meathead is looking up. As long as bad humor is with me, I know I am still alive and somewhat well.
