A Fall To Remember
As humans, we have always instinctively known that the fall season is special. Our ancestors believed that the veil between the living and the dead is thinnest during this time of year. Certainly, as the days shorten and the weather cools, I have an increased tendency to dig out that old photo album and look back fondly on the days that are no more.
So, as we sprint headlong towards Thanksgiving, let’s take some time to remember those individuals who helped to shape the life experiences that have molded each of us into, well…us.
You see, my friends, we need to remember. Not as it is, quite possibly not even as it was, but as it surely must have been. And all too often in the process of remembering others, we rediscover ourselves. For the next few weeks, I plan to share a few reminiscences of mine with you in the hope that they just might spur some memories of your own.
The First Fire Of the Every Year
Yesterday evening, as I was opening the door to let our dog outside, something grabbed me. A faint smell wafted in on the cooling evening air, crept through the cracked door, slipped silently into my nostrils, and slapped my senses silly!
I instantly recognized the distinctive scent of the year’s first lit fireplace and it froze me in my tracks. I stepped outside, tilted my head and flared my nostrils to take it in. In an instant, I was a kid again, making my way down the long driveway as the smoke from Uncle Sam’s wood-burning stove filled the hollow with the odor of a productive day already well underway. I could hear the wild scampering of squirrels overhead as their sharp claws nimbly navigated the scalely bark of the tall pines. The deep groans of the cattle reverberated through the hills as they lumbered along in one long line from the pecan orchard towards the familiar shape of a fisherman, standing silhouetted against the blinding glare of a new day reflecting brightly off the twinkling surface of the pond.
For that moment – that one beautiful, seemingly infinite instant – I was home again.
