Autumn Cometh, and So Turns the World

I've just spent hour upon hour in my yard. That's why you haven't seen me here today at MEJ and scant little of me at Running Scared. Why, you ask? Good question. It's because it's Autumn, also known as "Fall" for you in the exurbs. I'm a physical wreck, but I am put in mind of some words from the master comic (and Jon Stewart compatriot) Lewis Black, who once said, "Fall is here... and all I can say is, F**K FALL."

I'll tell you why they call it "Fall" people. It's because that's something that leaves do. And by God, they do it with a Holy vengeance to rival that flood that sent Noah scampering for his carpentry tools back in the day.

My house is in the suburbs, and mind you, I'm not complaining about my property. I love my home. It's got a nice back yard, fully fenced in, where the dog can run and scamper about. It also has a red maple. I don't know how old this tree is, but it was there when I bought the property, and it was likely here when the pilgrims had their first feast with the Indians they were destined to drive to near extinction. It's about fifty feet tall, and contains, at a conservative estimate, forty seven metric tons of leaves in any given season. All year long, the leaves are a beautiful deep shade of red, while all the other trees are green. Then, in October, it begins it's yearly evil plot to destroy my life. These leaves, which seem to work serviceably well all through the spring and summer, creating oxygen and providing shade for my dog while she digs up any plants we attempt to grow, begin to "fall" down onto the yard.

I can spend an hour a night out there raking them, and they continue to multiply. Even after the tree is nothing but an ugly pile of sticks standing upright in the bleak Autumn sky, it sends out Western Union telegrams to other maple trees around the state and imports more leaves. Each year I rake madly, stacking them up in my side driveway, waiting for the village workers to take them away, but more and more leaves arrive unannounced.

Finally, the snows of winter come. Snow covers the ground in a white blanket, and all is at peace. I rest comfortably in my home, secure in the knowledge that all of the evil leaves have been sent off to some leaf purgatory of their own making. But in the spring, the snow melts. And what do I see? LEAVES! Yes! That's right! Leaves all over the yard. My only conclusion is that aliens come in the night each winter, shovel up the snow, deposit more leaves on the ground (which they undoubtedly imported from Venus) and then carefully put all the snow back down again for camouflage.

If anyone would like to buy a large volume of relatively green firewood that will require a year of aging, please e-mail me at jazzshaw at gmail dot com. I'm going out there tomorrow with a chainsaw and taking that bastard down once and for all.