The Calling Leaves

Oh, it’s the time to wander, to ramble, to fly like a hawk, confidant of the Wind herself.

Years ago, I’d watch the dried leaves tumble and skip, skidding and scraping across the lonely street. They’d scratch a few seconds after the wind faded, and I’d be left wondering, gazing at the bend in the road.

Now I’ve followed them south, and roam as widely.

Still, I’m getting tired of gas station subs. The high school boys crowded round the counter a few evenings ago, hitting on the high school girl making the sandwiches, and I stood in line, old, cranky, invisible. Oh, mannn…she’s gonna ruin the meal.

Who knew that Old Bay seasoning could be weaponized? Forget about salting the earth. Salt the melted cheese, and watch the bitter tears flow.

If you’re in the mood to ramble, without the hassles of the road, I’ve got a few things for you. (Armchair adventuring surely is nice.)

Dean Martin seems to like the idea of being a hobo more than being one. Perfect. Dig his cover of this Merle Haggard tune:

Of course. Of COURSE.

Speaking of rambling…

Books? Well…The Hobbit. Obviously. And dig that clever Zeppelin foreshadowing of Lord of the Rings.

Have an excellent, blustery, bracing, stirring day. And skip the Old Bay seasoning.

-Josh