Autumn

Yesterday evening, while I was burning papers and cardboard boxes in my front yard, leaves like this one rained down all around me. A few fell into the fire and were incinerated upon contact. Most landed softly on the ground, blanketing the sedgegrass like a big, crazy quilt.

Today there are gunshots in the woods. It's deer hunting season here in this part of the world and my family lives in the forest. During deer season, I worry that a stray bullet will end up in my home. When I go for a walk outside, I wear an orange safety vest. I feel like a walking traffic cone.

I am nostalgic for the American West today. I want to be in Glenwood Springs, Colorado. I want to be at Mesa Verde and Chaco Canyon and Yellowstone National Park. I want to be watching the sunrise with my wife, with no agenda, no plans, and no worries in mind. I want to stand under some pinyon pines, freezing cold, thinking about American Buddhism and Indian lore.

I look forward to Eleanor being grown-up enough to eat breakfast. I look forward to making huge, warm, sensational egg & hotcake breakfasts for her on those cold rainy windblown mornings when you don't even want to leave the house, except that maybe after breakfast we'd drive around with the heat on full-blast, watching the rain fall.