Fall. My favorite time of year. A time of change, of great indecision, emotion, age and agelessness, ruin and renewal. When fall comes, I seem to be on this endless roller coaster of clouded thoughts and clouded goals. And although sometimes sad, seems also I enjoy every minute of it. I think often of summer ways that will be left behind for a bit and think often of the winter that lies just beyond. There is something in the air, something distinguished yet invisible, something that I have never been able to quite put my finger on or describe. There's something about the way the morning frost melts into drops channeling off the roof. It's different than rain, it sounds...thicker. The groves of aspens are a splash of yellow paint that will eventually turn to whirlpools of fire across the mountains. These are fair times. Thunder echoes less in fall. It soaks into the canyon walls as if they know they will soon long for that sound as months of quiet snow are just around the corner. The night sky is best in fall, the stars are wetter, clearer, quieter. People tuck themselves away, which makes me long for the solace of the side of a mountain even more and the acoustics of rustling leaves as nature goes dormant. It too is a sad song. But the crisp air is like electricity in my soul, invigorating, enlightening, addictive. A cool urgency of wasted time and sheer content of new hope. A chance to catch up while the earth sleeps. A chance to soak up the sinking sun that has suddenly become so precious. It seems I should sympathize with each leave that turns and falls but there isn't time for such foolish things. I am simply, reflective.