This is the beginning of my favorite time of year here in southwest Ohio. The cloudless, cobalt-blue skies (a cliche, but cobalt-blue is too perfect to sweat over-use) allow the sun to warm the early morning chill into the high-sixties/low-seventies by mid-afternoon; the sugar maples show the first tinges of fall color, as if teasing us with anticipitation of their full splendor to come. As I walk out the door to retrieve the morning paper from the driveway, the crisp a.m. air is almost too invigorating, and I think this will be another good day to do….just about anything.
Anything….including work outside. But I worked outside yesterday, and though there is still more work to be done, tomorrow is another day (and another cliche). Today — this morning, at least — I’m in a pensive mood. A writing mood. There are thoughts to be thought. Passing fancies to be pondered. Words –such as these meanderings — to be writ. Life is good.
I think of autumn songs I have known — autumn songs like they don’t make ’em like that anymore. Autumn In New York. September Song. Autumn Leaves. September In The Rain. Autumn Serenade. Songs that remain after A Faded Summer Love. Songs with lyrics by the likes of Johnny Mercer, like Early Autumn:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rNcRy7PLBSc (vocal by Ella)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HrHGpzbLKec (mellow jazz instrumental)
If that suited your fancy, we must do this again sometime….like maybe next post; like maybe with another of the above songs, like maybe September Song — because its days dwindle down to a precious few.