Philadelphia is currently coasting, in the most pleasant way, straight into a breezy and brisk autumn. Tricky Coyote is making his long retreat into the woods and Brother Grizzly will soon take over the moons, one final burst of food and action before the long, sleepy winter.
The fall is all about movement, all about dropping. You can hear it happening as you walk down the streets. Acorns are falling. The sky is falling, too, earlier and earlier. Sycamore branches are breaking. Chestnuts are splitting. The leaves will soon drop. The temperatures too. Ducks and birds will fly away as others stop by on their marathon migration. Same with the monarch butterfly. Any day now, the burst of autumn colors will be lighting up the Philly treeline and this blog will be busy, busy, busy.
Flowers, fruits and then leaves…another spectacular show is only a few weeks away from its opening notes.
And yet, as it always does during this time of year, my thoughts and meanderings take a ruminative and macabre turn.
You see, two years ago, at around this time, I was stung by a yellow jacket while camping and, unaware that I was allergic, I soon went into anaphylactic shock and, soon after that, I was knocking on heaven’s door.
Three things saved my life.
