Prime time.
Such as that actually occurred.
In any event, this year I embraced autumn like I’d been born to it.
Which of course I was.
I even revisited a cherished landscape of my youth.
Along its modern border, a great glacier long ago left a short line of steep rubble mounds piled sky high upon an otherwise resolutely flat landscape.
Started climbing to the top, just for old time’s sake. Made it halfway up then turned back, knowing full well what’s on the other side.
Which is just more scoured world rendered woeful obsolete,
yet damnably stubborn.
No matter. I aced what vestige of that ruin I came for.
As is common these days, drought’s scar leavened the joy. There
ought to be water here, except there’s been none to speak of quite the while
now.
Over time, both the land and its most resilient inhabitants adjust.
Those that can’t either migrate off their native landscape or
become part of it.
Nevertheless.
This year's prime time autumn proved particularly productive for me.
Full of bright sunny days spent afield, awash in impossible
contrasts melded as one together all the same.
Then the world again turned, as it will.
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