Autumn's Here, Tomorrow We Dip Closer to Frozen Times, and I Need to Put on a Pair of Socks (My Feet Are Cold)

I read this quote a few weeks ago, and stored it aside for later thinking, which I'm taking up this morning as blue skies awake the sun to my left, and graying clouds push the night away to the right. I want to sleep in until later hours, but two neighbors have yip-yap dogs that begin barking at 6 and, alas, the bright orangish-red orb rising from The Atlantic to the Sound, throws lasers between my curtains that always hit my eyes. There's no avoiding them. Even under my pillow or with a scarf around my head, they penetrate my brain simply to say,

COFFEE.

As soon as the mocha is triggered, I have to get up. 

When people fall in love with someone's flowers, but not their roots, they don't know what to do when Autumn comes.

I've been looking for the origin of these words, and find they are used ubiquitously, without reference to the origination. My hunt will continue, and something tells me we might get close to the bard himself (but I may be wrong). 

We are heading to the honest months: the cold, biting, gray, miserable ones. It is the season that doesn't lie, and I will trade boots for sneakers, probably move my workouts indoors. Spring and summer lie. They glitter gold, yellow, and orange, which is attractive on a surface level. Fall, it begins to whisper us to wake up and think a little deeper. 

I suppose Jenny Tran was right. Back in the 2000s she gave me a quote about the solitude of a philosophical man, and how he's never content in his head; instead he's always thinking. I think the work is closer to understanding the root systems below the surface. They are amazingly tangled, dense, complicated, and strong. Life above the surface, in this sense, is a facade. We are just temporary blooms that benefit from oxygen and water while we have it. We then pass it on to the blooms of tomorrow. 

I used to think that the majority who spend their lives as thinkers, especially in higher education, were more dazzled with the roots than the blooms, but time has shown me otherwise. Those locations have roots that are just as complicated (even leading to the craziness of Oz). 

Autumn is here. It's telling us to look below the surface. To think deep. To reflect and understand a little more. I'm not done thinking about these words, but wanted to harness them on a post, especially on my front porch where I should be wearing socks because my toes are turning blue.

And I need another cup of coffee. Middle school kids are strutting to Wooster (about 1/20th of what usually strolls by on a given day). Glamis is still sleeping. She's not triggered by the sun, the barking, or coffee. She just likes to sleep.

Tunga is at his desk crunching numbers.

Meanwhile, history was written below the surface of what most of us can see. The entanglement is intense, and from time to time, understanding it is ugly, grotesque, vile, and nasty. Fool's gold arises to the surface as dandelions and fly traps. The frost will get them, but they will be back, 

just like the barking dogs and blinding morning rays.