oh! my goodness.

pumpkins and crunchy leaves.
clear nights and glowing embers.
the very best parts about november.
it smells so flippin' good.
what it looks like,
how it feels,
there's nowhere else like here.
and that's good.
because then it wouldn't be as special.

a burning ring of fire.
the very best method of enjoying the long nights.
nature sounds, and pipe smoke,
and the whole thing falls in place.
the big picture, in miniature.
right here in my own yard.

birch bark burns hotter than anything.
and the smoke is black and greasy.
but,
it lights fast and burns faster,
and starts the blazes in an instant.
there's an old busted doo-doo deadwood birch
rotting out it's remaining days as one-fourth
of the retaining wall for the compost pile.
he was a big 'un before his fall;
but THIS fall, his skin is my kindling for the fire pit.
waste not, an' that.

look at that rural philosopher.
what?
c'mon.
it's alright, duders.
you don't have to shield your eyes.
it's not medusa, after all-
it's a self-portrait of the artist as himself.
sorta sweaty, smoky, and sorta sucky as a serene sojourner,
but keeping it molto real in the woodsly goodness.
all pumpkin-colored in the firelight,
like a jaundiced journeyman of autumny exploration.

speaking of pumpkiny hottness.

those are exactly what you think they are:
pumpkin spice rock blocks.
yeah.
because everything else is just a lame cookie.
are they soft?
yeah.
moist?
sure.
chewy?
heck yes.
delicious?
c'mon,.
what am i?
an A*hole?
you already know they embody the spirit
and the memory,
of every kind of good vibe, positive thought,
and excellent feeling associated with this season.
rock blocks and pumpkins?
all the way to eleven;
never quiet, never soft.....