A Chill in the Air

Today, the kids are playing that perennial game that kids play in the fall. The rules are simple: run around like crazy and try to catch a leaf before it hits the ground. It's one of those instinctive games that kids are genetically programed to do generation after generation. And any nearby adult witness suffers an acute attack of nostalgia, suddenly jolted into a memory of what it was like to effortlessly hurl body around in the cool breeze, arms and legs loose, nose full of the scent of autumn decay. It's the kind of day to remember to call your sister and ask what she has in mind for Thanksgiving, or a day to consider mixing up the pie crust and freezing it for the festivities ahead. It's the kind of day for heavy cream-based soups, chicken stews and a college football game. Is it right for a former Badger to root for the Buckeyes, just because all her money along with her daughter goes there?

This is a plant that grew in my mother's garden. She called it a Monk's Hood, but I'm certain she was wrong. The Monk's hood has leaves that are differentiated into a number of points. I'm guessing it's some kind of a snapdragon. I've moved it around a number of times to try to find its optimal home and I think last season, I finally achieved that. It's now living happily at the back of the garden and multiplying itself into quite a display.

In the time it's taken me to the write this, the rain has stopped and a little sunlight is trying to shine through. Out the window a leaf is gently falling from high up in the tulip poplars. I'm taking P and her friend to a festival to shop for holiday presents and then we'll snuggle in tonight for some football and post-season baseball. The Putterer