Random Thoughts - The Fall Edition

Ever since I left Chicago for California, I've had an ache in my heart.  I look around me for the red and gold and purple leaves on the trees... and I see none.  I inhale deeply, and while the scents are fresh and clean and geographically specific, there is no desiccating mustiness in the air. 

Daddooooo would gather the leaves in the bag attached to the lawn mover, letting me stand between his hands as the detritus swirled around my feet and legs and chest.  He'd lift me out, then dump the bag over my head.  The more he swept, the bigger the pile grew, and the more neighborhood kids arrived to jump and fling and bury ourselves underneath, jumping out to scare the littler ones.

Cactus paddles and mesquite's spiky branches just won't lead the a similar experience.
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One of the barrel cacti keeled over and died last week.  I noticed it while going out for the morning paper.  Lying on its side, spiritless, empty, weighing nothing, it is harboring an interesting assortment of little beasties underneath its rotting corpse. 

I'm leaving it for Ernie's guys to remove.  The thought of a colony of many legged creatures festering in my garbage can until pick up day is more than I can bear.
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That got me thinking about compost.  The Sonoma County compost facility is one of my favorite places in Northern California.  It smells great - full of life and decomposition and nutrients.  The texture of the piles, some of them three or four stories tall, is soft and even and absolutely luscious.

I'd love to compost here, but no one can guarantee that the pack rats won't chew their way into the plastic bins of the rolling composter, nor that the coyotes won't pry their way through the slats of the wooden separators of the open air bins. 

I have enough interesting wildlife outside the pony walls; I don't need to encourage it inside, where I live.
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There's a den of some sort in the wash between my house and JannyLou's.  I'd love to know who's living inside.
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Even though the temperatures are still in the 90's and the pool is tempting, my sleeveless blouses are looking much too summery for September, nearly October. 

It's a psychological thing.  Acclimating to the West Coast, I learned to decide that some colors were for Fall/Winter and others were Spring/Summer.  It's time to put the lavender and yellow away now, and bring out the forest green and oranges. Black seems to go both ways, though. 

My pink and white polka dot sneakers will be washed and put away, along with the pink Converse and the white Converse.  I think I'll treat myself to a new pair this Fall.... after all, I always got new shoes at this time of year.... for going back to school.....
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..... and I'm going to school again, starting October 1st.  I'll be reading tragicomedies, covering authors I've managed to avoid in six decades of literary browsing.  Ibsen, Pirandello, Ionesco.... I'll keep you posted in the sidebar as the semester progresses.

We're starting with Amphitryon, written by Flautus in the first century BC.  I wonder how comedy will translate after two thousand plus years.... but that's the beauty of Fall, and a new semester.  There's so much to figure out.